Beyond Knightfall
by katfairy
Summary: When Terry runs into more trouble than he can handle, his friends and family must help him pick up the pieces and recover. I said I wouldn't give up on this, and I meant it.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: I could not for the life of me think of a satifactory name for this story, so I stole one. Assume there will be spoilers for any given episode.  
  
"Still sulking, McGinnis?"   
  
Bruce spoke almost absently and wasn't surprised when Terry didn't answer. He waited a few seconds, then tried again.  
  
"Still awake, McGinnis?"  
  
This time there was a chuckle before Terry's amused response came over the comlink.  
  
"I'm not speaking to you, remember?"  
  
"Sorry; I forgot. I'm still not grovelling, though."  
  
"Well, then, I guess I'm still sulking."  
  
The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched and his eyes gleamed. Terry was fully capable of milking a joke for days if he felt like it and nothing came up to make him drop it. For that matter, he still whistled tunes from That Show every now and then. This particular joke stemmed from a discussion they'd had earlier. Not an argument- neither of them had been more than mildly annoyed- just a discussion. At least, it had been until Terry had broken off in mid-sentence, blinked, and started to laugh. That had earned him a raised eyebrow, forcing him to explain that the last minute or so had been almost word for word the text of his and Dana's last argument. Except quieter. And Terry had been speaking Dana's lines. Bruce had been amused enough to ask what came next.  
  
"Well... I should suddenly go off on a tangent about how you're neglecting me and never have time for me- which you'd think would be the same thing but apparently not- then I tell you I'm not speaking to you and storm off, leaving you scratching your head and wondering where the hell that came from. I sulk for a few days, you work off stress by beating the crap out of any Jokerz you come across. Then I... think I'll skip the next step, because that way lie scary visuals and people already tell strange stories about us, but you do some abject groveling and things go back to normal."  
  
"I'm not grovelling."  
  
Terry had pretended to consider this.  
  
"That'll be awkward. I can't stop sulking until you grovel. Rules."  
  
"Then you can sulk while you're on stakeout. You wouldn't be the first; it's a time-honored tradition."  
  
"Not that you ever did it."  
  
"I don't sulk, either."  
  
"Of course not- you brood instead."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Terry had left for the stakeout shortly after that. The stakeout was admittedly a long shot, but they'd agreed that even a slim chance of catching this particular arms dealer was worth the sacrifice of a sunny Saturday.  
  
They'd agreed. That was happening more often lately and Bruce knew it wasn't just because Terry was maturing. The Joker's attack, now months past, had shaken him more than he'd ever admit, forcing him to realise once and for all that trying to protect people- and himself- by driving everyone away just didn't work. He'd made a conscious decision to try to be a bit more open, to lighten up a little. It wasn't easy, but the reactions from everyone around him seemed to indicate he was doing the right thing- which had the contrary effect of making him feel like an idiot. When he'd mentioned it to Barbara she'd grinned at him and told him to go with the feeling.  
  
He'd even gone so far as to apologise to Terry for what he'd said and done the night he'd tried to fire him. Terry had just looked at him for a few seconds, then told him bluntly that the next time he thought Terry was getting in over his head he should just say so, then they could argue about the real problem without getting bogged down in bullshit. Subtext, he'd added, was a bitch. Bruce had been literally speechless; not only was Terry right, which was a little annoying, but he'd also sounded uncannily like Selina Kyle.  
  
"Hey, old man, turn on the vidlink. You gotta see this- talk about too cute for words."  
  
Terry snickered quietly. Bruce activated the link and gave another example of his trademark twitch/smile.. The scene was in fact too cute for words. A heavyset woman in business casuals was lying on the grass, enjoying the autumn sun while she could. What she had apparently forgotten was that Gotham squirrels led the nation in sheer nerve and one had decided to remind her of the fact by climbing onto her and perching on her ample chest. The woman was gazing at her shameless new companion with an expression of utter enchantment. The squirrel gazed back for a few seconds, then unfastened the pin on her lapel and darted away. Bruce and Terry gasped; the woman jumped to her feet with a shriek.  
  
"Give that back, you fuzzy-assed tree-rat!!!"   
  
The picture began to shake as muffled snorts came over the comlink. Bruce leaned back in his chair, a rare grin spreading across his face. Soon he too was shaking with silent laughter as the chase became increasingly slapstick. Later, he suspected, he would be annoyed that this had destroyed any chance they might have had to catch the dealer- there was no way he'd stick around through the commotion- but for now he was enjoying himself. So was Terry, obviously.  
  
"Okay, I think I'd better lend a hand now," Terry said after awhile, his voice decidedly unsteady. Before Bruce could say anything there was a flurry of motion and the next clear image was of Terry's gloved hand holding the squirrel by the scruff of its neck. The woman stopped short, wheezing a bit and gaping at the sight of Batman and the furry felon. When Terry spoke again, there wasn't a hint of a tremor in his voice.  
  
"Is this the individual who robbed you, ma'am?"  
  
"Smartass," Bruce muttered. The woman blinked a few times, then bit back a smile.  
  
"Why, yes, it is, Batman, but I don't wish to press charges as long as I get my pin back. Especially considering his extreme youth."  
  
"Extreme-? Oh. Right. Can't be more than two or three years old." Terry took the pin, gave it back to the woman, and carefully placed the squirrel on a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree. When it didn't run off, he addressed it sternly. "All right, we'll let this one slide, but don't let it happen again."  
  
The woman snickered. Bruce sighed. The squirrel bounced up and down on its branch, let out a furious stream of chitters, then three jaws dropped as the squirrel made an unmistakable gesture as it turned and ran away.  
  
"....Did that squirrel just flip me off?"  
  
"Yes," Bruce and the woman chorused, both grinning.  
  
#####################################  
  
Half an hour later Terry leapt from the Batmobile and pointed a finger at his mentor.  
  
"One word and I'll rig the computer to automatically log on to the Hampster Dance every time you try to access your e-mail."  
  
He would, too, Bruce knew, so he didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. There were some things even he hesitated to face.  
  
"Seriously, though," Terry continued, disappearing into an alcove to change," did you ever run into a situation so ridiculous even you couldn't help laughing? -That didn't come out right."  
  
"Do tell."  
  
"Look, I know I told the Joker you didn't have a sense of humor, but I was just messing with his head. I know you've got one, you just don't show it much, and I'm just digging myself in deeper, but you know what I mean."  
  
"Yes, Terry, I know."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And?"  
  
"Ah, come on."  
  
Bruce decided to give him a break, just this once.  
  
"Interesting you should mention the Joker..."  
  
Terry popped out of his alcove, shirt in hand, staring.  
  
"You actually laughed at something the Joker did?"  
  
"He didn't do it intentionally, and he was in no state to appreciate it anyway."  
  
Terry pulled his shirt on quickly, walked over, and leaned against the computer.  
  
"Okay, this I gotta hear."  
  
"Robin- Dick- and I were chasing the Joker once and he slipped on a banana peel, hit his head on a lamppost, and knocked himself out. Landed right at Jim Gordon's feet, too."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Gave himself a concussion."  
  
Terry cracked up.  
  
"A banana peel?"  
  
"We couldn't believe it either. The four of us- Harvey Bullock was there, too- we just stood and stared for a few seconds, then I caught Jim's eye and it was all over." Bruce snickered, remembering. "When Harley caught up with us she thought he'd got us with his laughing gas before he went down, but Dick pointed at the banana peel and she started laughing, which just set us off again. When the Joker found out, he sulked for weeks."  
  
Terry was sounding a bit like the Joker himself at this point, and Bruce was openly grinning. Even Ace was wagging his tail.  
  
"You don't want to know how Harley tried to cheer him up."  
  
Terry stopped laughing and turned pale.  
  
"No. No, I really don't. My dreams are already wierd enough."  
  
Bruce allowed himself to laugh. Terry shot him the look he always gave the old man when he didn't want to admit Bruce had got him.  
  
"That was uncalled for."  
  
"The Hampster Dance."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Now we're even."  
  
Terry laughed again and raised his hands.  
  
"Okay, I surrender. And I better get going; I promised Mom I'd pick up some stuff at Kamalic's and they close early on Saturdays."  
  
"Don't forget the milk."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"He can tell you the name of every villain I've ever fought, but he can never remember the milk," Bruce commented to Ace.  
  
"Says the guy who holds a million patents and still can't cook."  
  
Bruce bowed his head to acknowledge the hit. He still thought of the time Terry had caught him trying to make an omelet as one of the more embarrassing moments of his life. Especially since Terry hadn't laughed at him, just sighed, shook his head, and took over. And made an omelet almost as good as Alfred's. And to add insult to injury, hadn't rubbed it in. Much.  
  
"See you later, old man."  
  
He bounced up the steps before Bruce could answer, taking them two at a time as usual. He paused at the top to shoot a grin over his shoulder, pleased at getting the last word for once, then vanished into the Manor.  
  
To be continued...  
  
__________________ 


	2. Missing

**********************************************  
  
Bruce was tinkering with the suit's circuitry, trying to squeeze a little more efficiency out of an already hyper-efficient system, when the call came. Checking the caller ID he saw that it came from Terry's house. That was no reason for carelessness, though; he set the screen to reveal as little background as possible before answering. Mary McGinnis' face sprang into focus, her expression mixing worry and annoyance in equal measure.  
  
"I hate to disturb you, Mr. Wayne, but has Terry left yet?"  
  
Bruce frowned.  
  
"He left hours ago. Have you tried calling him?"  
  
"I tried that first. I got a message saying the number was out of service, technical difficulties, that sort of thing. That's not a good sign, but I thought I'd call you before I started the real worrying. I mean, it could be nothing."  
  
"It could, yes."  
  
"But you don't think so either, do you?"  
  
Bruce hesitated. True, he could think of any number of perfectly innocent excuses but even the most likely was still highly implausible. He could think of a far greater number of disasters, each one part of everyday life in Gotham.  
  
"I wouldn't start worrying yet, Mrs. McGinnis," he lied. "It's only a little after seven. If you haven't heard anything by nine, though..."  
  
The look she gave him told him she wasn't fooled but she didn't comment. They exchanged a few meaningless remarks, then rang off. As soon as the screen was dark, Bruce set several programs into action. It didn't take him long to learn that Terry's phone wasn't the only thing not working. The homing device in Terry's belt buckle- the one he used to call the Batmobile- was out as well. That was even more worrying; very little could interfere with that signal. The tracer in the suit was useless, since the suit was only a few yards away.   
  
There was still the tracer in the motorcycle, though- the one Terry didn't know about. He'd installed it while Terry was out on his first patrol, along with a few other things the boy would probably have a fit over if he ever found out they'd existed. He'd removed everything but the tracer within months, having decided that Terry could be trusted. That tracer was still working, but Bruce wasn't reassured. The signal was stationary, which meant the bike was parked. The odds that Terry was anywhere near it... Bruce shook his head and downloaded the necessary information into a handheld module.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of Kamalic's to see Terry's motorcycle standing almost alone in the drizzle. Almost, because a police car was pulled up beside it. Two officers, a middle-aged woman, and a raggedly dressed man were having a discussion nearby. Bruce parked and joined them.  
  
"...see him in every so often, sometimes with a red-haired woman and a little boy who has to be his brother," the middle-aged woman was saying.  
  
'Why do you say that?" asked one of the officers, a nondescript man whose nametag read Rosten. His partner- Dreyfus, her tag read- rolled her eyes. The middle-aged woman gave him an exasperated look.  
  
"Because he's too young to be the boy's father, maybe? Anyway, I've no idea what his last name is, but his first name is... damn. Timmy? Tony?"  
  
"Terry." Bruce had managed to approach them unnoticed, making them all jump when he spoke. "That bike belongs to Terry McGinnis. Where is he?"  
  
"Who are you?" Rosten demanded.  
  
"Bruce Wayne, dimwit. Ever watch the news?" Dreyfus sighed, then turned to Bruce. "Sorry, Mr. Wayne. Ignore Rosten. I do. Got a call. Abandoned bike. Bags hanging off handlebars. Can't be too careful in this town. Turned out to be groceries, of course. Manager- Ms. DeLacey, here- came out, said she knew the bike. More or less. Don't know about this guy."  
  
The ragged man drew himself up to what turned out to be a considerable height, affronted.  
  
"I, dear lady, am a witness to what I begin to fear may be a crime. Having little to occupy my time in my declining years, I have taken it upon myself to watch this lot, guarding it from some of the less desirable inhabitants of this city-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Rosten cut in. Dreyfus' arm twitched as though she was restraining her self from whacking her partner upside the head. Bruce gave the officer one of his better glares, which had its usual effect.  
  
"Continue. Please."  
  
Bruce knew he'd get the truth from the ragged man, even if it would sound like a Victorian melodrama. Luckily, after years of dealing with certain criminals- the Penguin immediately sprang to mind- he was an expert in Pretentious/English translations. The man bowed, dramatically of course.  
  
"You are a true gentleman; I shall. As I was saying, in the course of my guardianship I have become acquainted with some of the regular patrons of this establishment. I have, in point of fact, known young Terrence since he was quite small- merely a babe in arms. I watched him grow with pride and at times with some trepidation. He has always treated me with the greatest respect and kindness, even during that unfortunate period of his life when for a short time he fell in with unsavory companions."  
  
"Huh?" Rosten, predictably.  
  
"He ran with a gang for a while," Ms. DeLacey translated.  
  
"Quite. His own family was dissolving and he sought a substitute. An old, old, story, is it not? But this is beside the point. I merely meant to establish that I am well acquainted with the lad. I am quite fond of him, to be honest. Many of us are."  
  
"Us?" Dreyfus, this time.  
  
"Fellow denizens of the streets. He has defended more than one of us from those detestable clowns. As to what transpired this evening, that I may state relatively quickly. Upon his exit from yonder emporium, he deposited his purchases in the manner you see before you in order to don his helmet. Before he could do so, he was approached by a lovely dark-haired maiden. I was, alas, too distant and did not hear their conversation, but he left his conveyance along with his acquisitions and proceeded down the alley with his companion. He did not look happy, but neither did he seem afraid of what awaited him at journey's end. In my folly, I assumed her to be a friend of his in need of assistance. When some considerable amount of time had passed and he did not reappear, I grew concerned and called the constabulary. This fine officer and her partner-"  
  
"Watch it, buddy."  
  
"-arrived not long afterward. They quickly ascertained that the parcels contained foodstuffs and not explosives as they feared. Shortly after that the estimable Miss DeLacey came out and recognized the vehicle. She is, and I mean no offense by this, far better at remembering inanimate objects than living people."  
  
"He's right," she admitted. "That's why I'm in charge of paperwork and inventory and that sort of thing. My cousin does anything dealing with people. You know what happened next, though, because that's when you showed up."  
  
"Why were you here so late?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Late? Oh, this is normal for me. Saturday nights I finish up any leftover paperwork form the week, do an inventory check of a random section, then walk the floor to see if I can get any bright ideas to improve the store. I'm usually out around eight, but there have been times when I've worked past midnight. I try not to do that too often, though, because Mr. Dalrymple always waits until I leave before he goes... wherever he goes at night."  
  
"Mr. Dalrymple?" Bruce suspected he knew who that was.  
  
"That is I," the ragged man said, confirming Bruce's hunch. "Tobias Q. Dalrymple, at your service."  
  
"Your name's really Tobias Q. Dalrymple?" Rosten asked.  
  
"It explains much, does it not?"  
  
Bruce had been thinking the same thing but had no intention of admitting it. He had more important matters to deal with.  
  
"Mr. Dalrymple, this dark-haired girl- could you describe her a bit more thoroughly?"  
  
"Well, she did remind me of a favorite actress from my college days."  
  
"You went to college?"  
  
"Shut up, Rosten."  
  
"Indeed, I did. Bowdoin College, class of '94. Cum laude, with a degree in English Literature. But that is also beside the point. Now what was the lady's name? Her character was named Amanda, she was an 800-year old thief, the actress had been Miss America, I believe... Bother."  
  
"Elisabeth Gracen." Another memory etched into Bruce's psyche: Dick and Catwoman discovering a mutual fondness for a television show and comparing the relationship between the hero and the thief to the byplay between Batman and Catwoman. It had been particularly galling when they'd started comparing him to the hero- unfavorably.  
  
"That was the lady's name. Thank you, sir."  
  
"So what did she look like?"  
  
"Tall, slim, straight dark hair, dark eyes, fair skin," Ms. DeLacey replied. At everyone's look, she explained, "My mom had a thing for the guy who played Joe Dawson. I preferred Fitzcairn, myself."  
  
"Fitzcairn? That rogue?" Dalrymple looked shocked. Bruce, knowing an approaching tangent when he saw one, decided he'd better avert it.  
  
"Maybe someone should check the alley."  
  
"Right." Dreyfus nodded and headed off. "Rosten, stay."  
  
While they waited, Dalrymple and DeLacey continued their tangent, Rosten sulked, and Bruce thought. He'd hoped the dark-haired girl would turn out to be Dana, even though he'd known it was unlikely. Terry could have been distracted by his girlfriend- but no, he still would have called by now if he were able. And he wouldn't have left his bike behind. The more Bruce thought about it, the more he realized that there was no way this could end well.  
  
"Nothing, " Dreyfus growled, reappearing. "No prints on the bike that shouldn't be, either. Checked that with the groceries. Two sets of recent prints on them. McGinnis and... Lydia Voorhies."  
  
"Lydia?" Ms. DeLacey looked stunned. "She works here, but she can't be the girl Mr. Dalrymple saw- she's a short blonde. Why-?  
  
Dreyfus understood the unasked question and checked her palmtop.  
  
"Arrested, not charged. Riding in a stolen car. Didn't know. Right. Nothing we can do now. Impound the bike. Kid shows up, no harm, no foul. If not... 24 hours, make a report."  
  
"Wait a minute," Rosten burst out. "Okay, you're Bruce Wayne. That still doesn't explain why this is any of your business."  
  
"Terry works for me. His mother called looking for him. I remembered he mentioned needing to stop here on the way home, so I thought I'd trace the most likely route he'd take."  
  
"Sounds like a lot of trouble for an errand boy."  
  
This time Dreyfus actually did smack Rosten.  
  
"Assistant, twip."  
  
"What's the difference?"  
  
"A great deal."  
  
Bruce had used the Bat-voice. Rosten gulped and shut up.  
  
"Ummmmm..." Ms. DeLacey looked embarrassed. "This may seem petty, but what about the groceries? It's just, well, if he bought fish or something like that it's going to start to stink if it isn't refrigerated. It's getting chillier, but it's not that cold yet and that stuff's been sitting out here for at least 2 hours."  
  
Rosten and Dreyfus looked at each other.  
  
"Not evidence."  
  
"We oughta talk to his mother anyway. Might as well bring it along." To Bruce's surprise, Rosten suddenly looked glum. "I hate this part. Worst thing about being a cop."  
  
Maybe he's not a complete idiot after all, Bruce thought.  
  
********************************************  
  
Rosten surprised Bruce again with the gentleness in his manner as he told Mary McGinnis what they knew. She listened, speechless, then glimpsed an unmistakable carton in one of the bags.  
  
"He remembered the milk," she whispered, and burst into tears.  
  
To be continued 


	3. Searching

I never did a disclaimer, did I? Well, here it is: I don't own it. I own this particular story, and any original characters contained therein, but that's it. And no, I'm not making money off this.   
  
Besides, if I did own it, it would still be running, Max would be the sidekick she should have been rather than crowding Bruce out (blame the writers, not the character!), Terry would have at least told his mother what he really did at night, and "Unmasked" and "April Moon" would never have existed. Oh, yeah, and Dana would have acted more like she did in "Lost Soul" and "Inqueling" instead of her pulling diva-fits whenever the writers decided Terry's life needed complications.  
  
******************************************  
  
Even Ace was moping. Every time the dog heard footsteps he would perk up, only to droop again when it turned out to be Barbara, Tim, or Max. Once or twice it had even been Clark. But for the past two weeks it hadn't ever been Terry. Bruce tried not to let himself think they might never see him again, but he also tried not to let himself think they would.  
  
It seemed as though half the city was looking for Terry. The bulletin board at Kamalic's had become a combination missing person announcement/message board. The police were investigating, but that was a given. Dalrymple had organized his friends into a surreal recreation of the Baker Street Irregulars. Dana and Max had organized their friends as well. Tim had taken a leave of absence from his job and moved back to the manor; his wife and youngest daughter came to help on the weekends. The older one would have come as well, but she was in Edinburgh. The media had jumped on the story, plastering Terry's face over every vidscreen in Gotham. Even some of the Wayne-Powers employees had gone out searching. And of course Bruce had posted a reward.  
  
The dark-haired girl hadn't been positively identified, despite Dalrymple's best efforts. He'd given a very detailed description of her, but she wasn't in the police files. Somehow he managed to get hold of a copy of the police sketch of her (Bruce suspected Barbara of that), made more copies, and distributed them among his friends. He reported to Bruce every night now, but the report was generally the same. Still, Dalrymple was convinced that a few of the people he'd talked to knew something but were unwilling to speak. He'd noted each one and informed Bruce that he intended to keep an eye on them.  
  
Some of the reactions to Terry's disappearance had surprised Bruce. Mary McGinnis had given up without a fight; she was already talking about leaving Gotham before, as she put it, "this place takes Matt away, too." Dana, whom Bruce had almost written off as a spoiled princess, had turned out to have impressive organizational skills. Dalrymple was showing himself to be no slouch in that area as well and had a keen mind behind his eccentric manner. Howard Groote, of all people, had waltzed into Big Time's headquarters (and the fact that he found them at all made Bruce wonder) and demanded to know if he'd had anything to do with it. Big Time had denied it. Bruce believed him, if only because if he had been behind it he'd have been bragging about it to anyone who'd stay still long enough to listen. Tamara, the little psychic Terry had rescued from the Brain Trust, had sent a message through Barbara: Terry was alive and in Gotham but out of her reach, and she wasn't sure what that meant. Hopeful, but not helpful.  
  
Other people hadn't surprised him at all. He'd expected Max and Tim to show up on his doorstep as soon as they heard, although he'd hadn't expected them to arrive at the same time. Barbara was taking it almost as a personal insult and had made sure her best people were on the case. Clark had waited a few days before flying in from Metropolis. It was his fault that Max now knew where the entrance to the Batcave was; she'd been the one to answer the door when the bell rang. He'd greeted her politely and gone straight to the clock, assuming that since she was there and she knew about Batman, she knew everything else too. Bruce hadn't bothered getting angry. For one thing, Clark had meant well, and for another, he'd always known it was only a matter of time anyway. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, the girl had her uses.  
  
Dick had called Tim to say he'd keep his eyes and ears open in Bludhaven. He hadn't said a word to or about Bruce.  
  
Two weeks.  
  
They'd checked Terry's enemies, of course. Nothing. Their reactions had been as varied as his friends had been, from Dr. Wheeler's open gloating to the Queen of the Royal Flush Gang's honest concern. Barbara had even questioned Spellbinder on the off chance he blamed Terry for that first time he'd been captured. She said he'd seemed shocked by the suggestion and claimed it had never occurred to him. They hadn't been able to find Stalker, but if he'd been responsible they'd have found the body.  
  
There had been one small stroke of luck- with Halloween being only a few days away there were costume parties all over Gotham. Batman was a very popular costume. One or two of them had found trouble but had gotten themselves out of it and decided to let people think they were the real thing for whatever reason. Very few people knew it hadn't been the real Batman- either of them- and Bruce was glad of that.  
  
There were sightings reported, of course; there always were. None of them panned out. Greed, cranks, and honest mistakes accounted for 95 percent of them. There had been two separate sightings of a black-haired boy being hauled into a van at gunpoint. One case had turned out to be a film crew shooting a scene with well-hidden cameras. The other had been a genuine kidnapping. That one hadn't had a happy ending either.  
  
Bruce inevitably ended up in the Batcave, brooding. It had been a bad morning. Barbara had called him down to identify a John Doe whose mutilated body had been brought to the city morgue. The corpse was missing its head and hands- and also, Bruce had been relieved to see, a scar Terry had gotten when he'd fallen out of a tree as a child. It wasn't Terry; still, until he'd noticed that missing scar...  
  
"I'm getting too old for this," he muttered.  
  
"Shyeah, right."  
  
Bruce looked up as Tim came down the stairs. Despite everything, Tim was looking better than he had in years. Getting the Joker out of his head- literally- once and for all had changed him dramatically. Much of the bitterness was gone, and Tim had realized that many of his problems had been caused by the Joker's continuing manipulation. Also, hearing that the Joker had described him with the same phrase he'd used to describe Harvey Bullock had stung Tim into getting back in shape.   
  
"Barbara called," Tim continued. "She said you seemed pretty shaken up. It wasn't him, though."  
  
"No."  
  
"Bruce, he'll be okay. We'll find him."  
  
"Will we? We're doing a wonderful job so far."  
  
"You're starting to sound like Mary McGinnis."  
  
Bruce glared. Tim didn't even blink.  
  
"Bruce, I mean it. Don't make me want to smack you upside the head too. I really think we'll find him. Alive. That little psychic girl says he is, and from what I read in your case notes- yes, I read them- I don't think she'd screw up something like that."  
  
"No. She's young, inexperienced, but her powers are pretty strong and she did manage to establish a strong link with Terry after just one brief meeting."  
  
"Well, then?"  
  
Bruce glared again.  
  
"That's what I thought." Tim was silent for a few moments before he continued, "Were you this much of a pessimist when I disappeared?"  
  
"...No."  
  
"Is that why you're so broody now?"  
  
"...Maybe."  
  
"I know I've been having nightmares, if that's any help."  
  
Bruce's head snapped around, but Tim held up a hand to forestall any comments.  
  
"It's okay, I can deal with them now. I'm not a traumatized 15-year-old with a homicidal lunatic playing hide-and-seek in his subconscious anymore. Trust me on this," he finished dryly, shooting a look at his old costume. Bruce followed his glance, looked back at Tim, and while he didn't smile, he did look a little less grim.  
  
"Yes, I can see that."  
  
"And how well do your old costumes fit?"  
  
Bruce had no intention of answering that, but the ringing of the phone saved him another glare. He was rather surprised to hear Dalrymple's voice so early in the day and was absolutely stunned when he heard what the old man had to report. By the time the call ended, though, he was looking positively ferocious and rapidly pulling up information on the computer.  
  
"The girl's name is Tina Curtis. Her brother is Joe Curtis- also known as J-Man."  
  
"...Oh my god."  
  
"I can't believe they hid it this long. All that publicity- or maybe that's why they hid it. There's a difference between going after No Fun Boy and going after Bruce Wayne's personal assistant. The story was on the Web within a few hours of his bike being found; they must have panicked when they learned who he was."  
  
"Wait a minute- No Fun Boy?"  
  
"That's what the Jokerz call him.. He's actually proud of it."  
  
"Well, duh. What do they call you?"  
  
"Scary Old Guy."  
  
"Figures. But why would they panic? -Oh, right. They probably figure you own the cops and could make them all disappear if you wanted to."  
  
"I could. Easily. You know that."  
  
"I also know you wouldn't. So you think they're holding him until the heat dies down?"  
  
"Either that or they made sure he was in no shape to tell anyone what happened. They might even have tried to kill him and failed. I'm checking the hospitals for any John Does found in the past two weeks."  
  
"Wouldn't someone have done that?"  
  
"Yes. I'm doing it again."  
  
The list was depressingly long at first, but more than half of them had eventually been identified and more than half of those left couldn't possibly have been Terry.  
  
"I don't care how badly damaged his face is," Tim commented at one point," I don't think it's possible to mistake Terry for a 6'2" black guy."  
  
"Bullock once thought Static was you."  
  
"Yeah, well, I like to think I'm smarter than Bullock was."  
  
Bruce just raised an eyebrow and continued working. It took less than half an hour to narrow the list down to four patients. All four were white males matching Terry's build and all four were estimated to be in their late teens to early twenties. Two were listed as having black hair, one as dark brown, and one as unknown. All four were victims of the Jokerz. Bruce scanned the list one last time and headed for the stairs, Tim falling into step beside him.  
  
**********************************************  
  
To be continued 


	4. Found

Thanks for all the reviews, everyone. I have to confess, I haven't quite finished this, but I'm working on it. There is one comment I thought I should address- Girl-Gambit, you're right. Dalrymple is veddy English. He's the result of going straight from a production of Pirates of Penzance into Sweeney Todd while reading far too many Regency romances and lots of Terry Pratchett. Scary thing is, I actually know people like that...  
  
***************************************  
  
Two of the patients were at Gotham Mercy, so Bruce and Tim headed there first. However, getting to the patients was more difficult than they anticipated. The woman covering Reception was smiling, polite, charming, and utterly implacable: noone was to be admitted to see either patient unless they had been cleared by the police. When he realized he wasn't going to get in on his own, Bruce gave in and called Barbara, then waited. He wasn't too pleased when Tim suddenly snickered.  
  
"Something amusing?"  
  
"Sorry. It's just that I've never seen you strike out so badly with a woman. She's good."  
  
Bruce growled softly.  
  
"You could have used a secretary like her back in the day."  
  
"Oh, I'd never go into the corporate sector," the woman said. "It's far too stressful."  
  
"So you work in a hospital instead."  
  
The woman smiled sweetly and turned back to her computer. Tim shook his head with a rueful grin. Bruce was even less in the mood for fooling around than usual, but he didn't say a word. Besides, Tim had a point; she was good.  
  
"All right, Bruce, what are you- oh, hello, Emma," Barbara said, striding up to the desk. "Never mind, I think I know. You should have called me first."  
  
"I didn't expect to need clearance."  
  
"Well, now you know. A lot of hospitals are doing this these days. Any unidentified patient who's been involved in a crime is automatically put under guard, either by hospital security or the police."  
  
"That's sensible, even if it is inconvenient at the moment," Bruce conceded. "Now that you're here, there are two John Does who fit Terry's description."  
  
"Bruce, we did check this."  
  
"He could have been admitted afterwards. One of them was brought in three days ago; have you checked that recently?"  
  
She glared at him, then turned to Emma.  
  
"He's- they're- with me. And congratulations on solving Xeno's Paradox. Come on, you two."  
  
They followed her, leaving Emma looking slightly bemused.  
  
"Zeno's Paradox," muttered Tim. "Isn't that the one about the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object? -Oh. Heh."  
  
"That's the one. I assume Dalrymple called you too?"  
  
"Yes. Knowing it was the Jokerz made matters much easier If neither of these pans out, there's another at Gotham General and another at St. Luke's. I assume they have the same restrictions?"  
  
"Every hospital in Gotham does. And yes, I'll go with you. Here we are- the security wing." She showed her badge and ID to the cop at the door. "They're with me. Identifying a John Doe."  
  
"There's six in there right now."  
  
"Six?" Tim was stunned. The cop shot a look at Barbara, who nodded.  
  
"Three in the last twelve hours. Two drug overdoses, brought in together. We're trying to identify them from their fingerprints, since their brains are slagged. One arson victim, throat damaged too badly to speak. Checking the tenant list on the building for her. Car crash, refusing or unable to speak, prints not on file. Two Jokerz victims, one with a broken jaw, the other in a coma. Both had their prints burned off."  
  
"The Jokerz victims."  
  
"Rooms 1211 and 1223."  
  
He opened the door just wide enough to let them in, then locked it behind them. Room 1211 was closest and held one of the two black-haired victims, but a glance in the window was enough to tell them that this couldn't be Terry. The man's hair was black and glossy, but also long, thick, and curly, like a seventeenth century nobleman's. Bruce couldn't help feeling a stab of disappointment, even though he'd known it was a long shot.  
  
Room 1223 had to hold the one with the unknown hair color, then. This one's age was estimated to be in the early 20's, but since there was a question mark attached to that Bruce had decided it was worth checking. According to his file, he'd had hair when he came in, but the gelpaint that the Jokerz had pured into it had set, forcing the doctors to try some unusual techniques to remove it. They'd had to remove it- he'd been brought in with a fractured skull and they'd needed to operate. He'd been in a coma ever since. When Bruce considered the list of his injuries, he thought it was just as well.   
  
A peek in the window wasn't going to do it this time, especially since there was a nurse bending over him, checking on one of the many tubes attached to him. As they entered, they could hear the nurse talking to him in a soft, pretty voice with a marked Irish accent.  
  
"-isn't any too comfortable himself at the moment. Serves him proper and right. But it sounds like you have visitors, so- oh, my." The nurse stared at them, then turned back to her patient. "Well, young Johnny, I didn't know you knocked about with the likes of Bruce Wayne, Commissioner Gordon, and- I'm sorry, I don't seem to know you."  
  
"No reason you should; I don't live in Gotham," Tim said.  
  
"There, now, I thought you looked sensible. I'm assuming you're here to see if our Johnny is your missing assistant, Mr. Wayne?"  
  
"That's what we're hoping." Bruce spoke politely, hiding his desire to just brush the woman aside and see. She cocked her head, clearly taking his measure. She appeared satisfied with what she saw.  
  
"I should be warning you the lad's none too pretty a sight right now. He was severely beaten- some of the doctors are surprised he survived. Even after two weeks his face is still badly bruised, although the swelling has subsided. You'll be needing to look closely, I'm thinking."  
  
She stepped out of the way without waiting for his answer. Bruce stepped up to the bed, looked down, and froze. The nurse hadn't exaggerated; he wasn't a pretty sight. His hair was growing back, but at the moment it was just stubble. His face was a distracting mass of colors- distracting, that is, to an average person who hadn't trained himself since childhood to ignore such distractions. Bruce. however...  
  
"I'ts him," he said hoarsely. "It's Terry."  
  
"YES!!!"   
  
Tim immediately clapped his hand over his mouth, but noone objected to his exclamation. Barbara was too busy hugging him, the nurse was smiling indulgently, and Bruce was ignoring all of them. Instead, he reached out an unsteady hand and lightly touched Terry's cheek.  
  
"He's been right here the whole time..."  
  
**************************************  
  
Living right in Gotham meant Mary McGinnis had less distance to cover. Less than ten minutes after they called her they heard two sets of feet pelting down the hall. Mary burst into the room a few seconds ahead of Matt, her bright hair uncharacteristically all over the place.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
Bruce had gotten to his feet as soon as he heard the footsteps. She instinctively looked to him; he looked to the bed.  
  
"Mrs. McGinnis- Mary- I should warn you," he began, but she just shook her head.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Wayne, but this won't be the first time I've seen Terry after he's lost a fight and I doubt it will be the last now," she responded with more spirit than she'd showed since the whole mess began. Then just as Bruce had a few minutes earlier, she stepped up to the bed, looked down, and froze. And just as she had two weeks before, she burst into tears; this time she actually threw her arms around Bruce and buried her head in his chest.  
  
"He's alive," she sobbed. "Terry's alive!"  
  
Bruce shot Tim and Barbara a look that, for him, bordered on pleading as he awkwardly patted her back. Barbara took pity on both of them and led Mary to the chair Bruce had abandoned. Matt, meanwhile, had come up to the bed and was standing on tiptoe trying to see. Bruce frowned for a second then, knowing he would pay for it later, picked him up.  
  
"Whoa....." Matt gaped at his brother for a while before looking up at Bruce. "He's not just sleeping, is he?"  
  
Bruce looked into the boy's clear brown eyes, trying to decide what to tell him. Eventually he settled on the truth.  
  
"I'm afraid not."  
  
"Will he wake up?"  
  
"...I don't know."  
  
"But he's still alive."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then he has to wake up."  
  
Bruce sighed, envying Matt's naive certainty. For him, at least, the initial joy of finding Terry alive and, if not well, then at least in a safe place had already worn off. The list of injuries he'd seen in the hospital files had crept back into his mind, leaving him wondering if Terry wasn't just as lost to them now as he had been only an hour before. He knew Terry could linger like this for months, even years.  
  
A doctor entered, breaking Bruce's chain of thought. He could swear he heard the nurse mutter something under her breath, but when she turned around she was the image of professional efficiency. The doctor looked to be the type who was never anything else. Dick would have said she'd been weaned on a pickle.  
  
"What are all these people doing here, Maguire?"  
  
"Sure and they're here to identify the poor wee lad now, Doctor Miller."  
  
Bruce raised an eyebrow as the nurse's accent thickened dramatically. It didn't take a Great Detective to see there was bad blood between the two. Tim slipped up beside him, took Matt, and nodded toward the door. Bruce nodded back; Tim took the boy out of the room to avoid the upcoming unpleasantness. Only years of experience allowed him to keep a straight face as he heard Matt's departing comment.  
  
"They're gonna have a catfight, aren't they, Mr. Drake?"  
  
Dr. Miller sniffed but otherwise ignored that.  
  
"I believe the rules state very clearly that the only people to be allowed in here are the police and the patient's family, Maguire. Since the boy has no family, perhaps you could explain why this room is so crowded."  
  
Bruce was about to cut the officious woman down to size, but Barbara beat him to it. She flipped out her badge, smiling. Or at least her teeth were bared. Sometimes it was hard even for him to tell the difference.  
  
"I'm Commissioner Barbara Gordon. I am the police."  
  
"And these others?"  
  
Mary, who had stopped crying and quickly tidied herself when the doctor came in, stood and stared her down.  
  
"The boy certainly does have family, and we're it."  
  
*********************************************  
  
To be continued (still) 


	5. Diagnosis

No, this story isn't even close to being finished. Finding him is just the beginning...  
  
*****************************************  
  
Did she mean that the way it sounded? Bruce wondered.  
  
"Are you the doctor in charge?" she continued. "I hope not- I'd hate to think my son spent the last two weeks in the care of a woman with the bedside manner of Torquemada!"  
  
Now Barbara was definitely grinning again. Bruce was rather pleased himself. Mary was obviously through moping and Dr. Miller was about to learn what he'd learned the first time Terry had been injured on the job: don't mess with Mary McGinnis' maternal instincts.  
  
"I'm not in charge of this particular patient, but-"  
  
"Then call whoever is. I want to know exactly what's wrong."  
  
"He's in a coma-"  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious!"  
  
Barbara and Ms. Maguire were suddenly hit by coughing fits. Dr. Miller gave them a sour look as she turned to leave.  
  
"I'll send Dr. Tikkainen as soon as he's available. It may be a while. Maguire, don't you have other duties?"  
  
"Not at the moment, Doctor. I'm to keep watch on the patient in case he shows signs of waking. Orders from Himself."  
  
Dr. Miller snorted and stalked out. There was a moment of silence.  
  
"Born a virgin, that one, as my gran used to say," Ms. Maguire muttered. Bruce almost smiled. Barbara snickered. Tim, who'd been waiting for Miller to leave, paused in the door with Matt.  
  
"Now there's a line to walk in on." He glanced at Mary. "Uh- is it safe yet?"  
  
Matt nodded.  
  
"Mom scared her away. She's good at that."  
  
"Matt!" Mary blushed. "Mr. Drake, I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't worry about it. My youngest isn't overloaded with tact either. And she's Terry's age, so she doesn't have the excuse of being too young to know better."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
Matt pouted, Tim ruffled his hair, and Matt batted his hand away, laughing for a second. Only for a second, though, because a guilty expression crossed his face when he glanced at Terry lying motionless in his bed.  
  
"Sorry, Mom, " he said in a small voice.  
  
"Oh, honey," Mary knelt beside him, not quite hugging him. "It's okay. Do you think Mr. Drake would have teased you if it wasn't? For that matter, do you think Mr. Wayne or Commissioner Gordon would have let him? Or me? It doesn't mean you aren't worried, it's just..."  
  
"Blowing off steam," Barbara said gently. "Cops do it all the time. Even Batman does it; I've heard him."  
  
"Wow.... you met Batman... Hey, I met Batman. He's schway, isn't he? I'll bet he'll find all those Jokerz and beat 'em as bad as they did Terry!"  
  
"Here's hoping, kid," Barbara replied as she, Tim, and Bruce avoided each others' eyes. An uncomfortable silence reigned; it was Tim who broke it.  
  
"So, Matt, you met Batman. What was that like?"  
  
It was just what they needed. Matt launched into a highly colorful and wildly inaccurate account of how Batman had rescued him from a "giant mutant tattoo guy who was being chased by demons". The look Mary gave Tim was grateful; the look Tim gave Bruce said very clearly he wanted to hear the rest of the story later. Barbara, who already knew it, had a hard time keeping a straight face during some of the more elaborate exaggerations.  
  
"-and then the demons chased him in front of a train and I thought he was dead until I saw him a few nights ago."  
  
"What? Where?" all five adults demanded.  
  
"In Terry's room."  
  
The silence this time was more stunned than uncomfortable, and it was Barbara who broke it.  
  
"Matt, why was Stalker in Terry's room?"  
  
"He was hunting Terry. I asked him why and he said he was gonna save his life or avenge his death. He said Terry was his prey and noone was gonna steal him." Matt snorted. "And he told me not to be dramatic. And he started asking me questions and I wasn't gonna answer but he said it wouldn't be time to hunt Terry for a few years so I thought maybe he could help 'cause he's this big hunter and all and I told him everything and then he said you should have named me Calvin and I asked why and he wouldn't say and then he left and when I got home the next day there was a stuffed tiger on my bed and- why are you laughing?"  
  
Bruce was the only one even close to keeping a straight face.  
  
"I can see a certain resemblance," Tim chuckled.  
  
"Bruce, remember when Dick replaced your screen saver with-" Barbara couldn't finish.  
  
"I remember. I also remember you replacing it with those three mutant puppies or whatever they were-"  
  
"The Warner Brothers- and the Warner Sister."  
  
"You'd like her if you kissed her," Tim sang under his breath. Barbara smacked him on the arm; Bruce glared.  
  
"And you replaced all the .wav files with Pokemon noises. Do you have any idea how hard it is to write reports with the Jigglypuff song stuck in your head? At least Terry only threatened to link my e-mail to the Hampster Dance!"  
  
A respectful murmur worked its way around the room.  
  
"He wins," Barbara and Tim chorused.  
  
"The Hampster Dance? Haven't heard that one for a while," a new voice commented. They turned to the doorway, where the voice had come from. The owner stood there, smiling. He was a middle-aged man, slightly taller than Bruce but thin almost to the point of skinniness, with a shock of mouse-brown hair, friendly green eyes, and a beaky nose.  
  
"Dr. Tikkainen!" Ms. Maguire exclaimed. "Our Johnny has a family, though I'm thinking the dynamics may take some explaining."  
  
"I got that impression from Lady Millstone- oops." He blushed, shooting them an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, that was very unprofessional of me."  
  
"That's all right," Mary assured him, standing up. "I'm Mary McGinnis, Terry's mother. This is my other son, Matt; Commisioner Gordon; Terry's boss, Bruce Wayne; and their friend, Tim Drake. You're Terry's doctor?"  
  
"Uh... yes, I guess I am. You say his name is Ter-" he broke off, looking at the group again, comprehension filing his eyes. "Good God, light dawns on Marblehead. The missing boy who's been all over the Web. Oh, dear."  
  
"Noone's blaming you for not recognising him," Bruce said. Mary agreed.  
  
"Of course not- he's... not really looking his best right now and he really doesn't look much like the pictures they've been showing. I'm not sure I'd have recognised him myself, to be honest."  
  
"I think you're selling yourself short, but thank you. Anyway, now that you're here, I need to discuss his case with you- uh, that is, the family- I mean...."  
  
He trailed off, clearly trying to figure out which ones he should be telling what. After some silent communication, Tim turned to Matt.  
  
"Hey, kid, I know some good Batman stories, including some he'd like to forget about. Interested?"  
  
He didn't need to ask twice. The others,with a parting look at Terry, followed Dr. Tikkainen to his office. Once everyone was seated, he began.  
  
"I want to start by assuring you that there was no sign of sexual assault. They seemed to be content with merely trying to beat him to death. They failed. However, as you saw, they did manage to inflict a great deal of damage. I can give you a full list of his injuries, but I'd rather spare you. We've dealt with everything that can be dealt with; time, rest, and eventually physical therapy will take care of what's left. He does have any number of cracked, fractured, or just plain broken bones, but most of them are relatively minor and should heal without any complications. You'll just need to be careful for a few more weeks."  
  
"What about the coma? When will he wake up?" Mary asked.  
  
"I wish I could tell you. He could wake up tonight, next month, or- and this is highly unlikely but it's my duty to say it- not at all. This coma is the result of a fractured skull; there was some swelling and we did have to operate. He seems to be recovering all right, but despite all of our medical advances in the last hundred years or so, when it comes to head injuries we still don't know jack. The best I can tell you is that the odds are in his favor. He's young, healthy- uh, generally speaking, that is- and he was obviously in excellent physical condition before the attack. If this lasts longer than another month, and that's my most pessimistic estimate, I'll be surprised. Of course, there could be some lingering side effects- amnesia, altered personality, that sort of thing, but we won't know until he wakes up. And there's one other major problem, I'm afraid." He picked up a carved wooden platypus and fidgeted with it uncomfortably, avoiding their gaze as he gathered his thoughts. When he finally looked up, his eyes blazed with a Bat-like determination. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it: his back was broken in three places. While there is no sign of spinal damage, which is a bloody miracle, it'll be a long time before he's back on his feet again, let alone walking unassisted. It's going to take a long time and it'll feel even longer than it is but he will walk again or I'll tear up my damn diploma. All of 'em."  
  
********************************************  
  
To be... oh, you know.... 


	6. Planning

Noticed a few formatting issues with the last chapter, so from now on:  
  
*internal dialogue* (i.e. thoughts)  
  
I still don't own this, in case anyone's wondering.  
  
******************************************  
  
It was a very sober group that left Dr. Tikkainen's office to meet a very angry Tim and Matt.  
  
"Lady Millstone called the press," Tim snarled. Dr. Tikkainen's response was probably rude, but it was in Finnish and he didn't seem likely to offer a translation.  
  
"Oh, God," Mary moaned.  
  
"Let me and Bruce handle this," Barbara said. "We're old hands at giving the press a smackdown."  
  
"Tim, you sneak Matt out the side door, get the car, and bring it around. We'll take them home and make plans to deal with this properly later. Barbara-"  
  
"I'll have Dreyfus and Rosten start patrolling their neighborhood."  
  
"That should help. I noticed Rosten had a certain rapport with the press."  
  
Barbara's grin was pure malice; Tim's wasn't much better. Rosten's rapport with the press mostly involved seeing how rudely he could address them without having his remarks censored when and if they aired.  
  
"You're an evil woman, Barbara," Tim said.  
  
"And don't you forget it. Doctor, I think you'd better stay in your office. With any luck they won't have your name yet."  
  
"Right. And if they do, I can 'no comment' with the best of them."  
  
He disappeared into his office with a wave. Tim and Matt went in search of the side door. Bruce, Barbara, and Mary exchanged grim glances then headed for the lobby, Bruce in the lead with his best Bat-glare in place. Mary whispered something to Barbara, who choked back a laugh. Bruce didn't have a chance to ask before they were greeted by a tumult of cameras and questions. He fended off most of them with a glare and/or a "no comment"; the more persistent ones Barbara tackled. His equanimity faltered only once when a really pushy reporter broke through to Mary and she couldn't possibly have said what he heard.  
  
Finally they made it through to the car. Mary was guided into the back beside Matt, Barbara made a break for her own car, and Bruce ducked in the front with Tim, who gunned the motor. The press, not sure they wanted to trust in the good will of the famously irascible Bruce Wayne, scattered and the car shot ahead. Before long they were regrouped at the McGinnis apartment, sitting in the living room and pretending they didn't notice Matt listening through his cracked-open bedroom door. Bruce couldn't restrain his curiosity any longer.  
  
"Mrs. McGinnis, what did you say to Barbara back there?"  
  
"I said it felt like the Charge of the Light Brigade."  
  
"Ah. And did I really hear you tell that reporter to get her camera out of your face or you'd take it and-"  
  
"-And shove it between the lips she never kissed with? Yes, you did."  
  
Mary was blushing furiously but still looking proud of herself. Tim, seemingly awestruck, dropped to one knee before her.  
  
"Marry me," he begged.  
  
"Tempting, but I think your wife might object," she responded dryly.  
  
"Yeah, you're probably right. Oh, well."  
  
Bruce was about to put a stop to the fooling when the doorbell rang. Tim immediately sprang to his feet.  
  
"My turn," he grinned. However, he returned with Max, Dana, and Dalrymple. "Guess I'll have to torment the press later. You guys sure moved fast."  
  
"We tried calling," Dana said.  
  
"We turned off the phone," Mary told her. Max nodded.  
  
"Makes sense. Anyway, I set my computer to page me any time a new story about Terry popped up. I was with Dana when this one broke and we decided we'd have a better chance of talking to you if we waited 'til you got back here. We spotted Mr. D on the way over. So how is he and when do we give those dregs the smackdown they got coming?"  
  
"The press or the Jokerz," Mary asked.  
  
"Both."  
  
"We were about to get to that," Bruce said resigned. In all honesty, he couldn't object to their presence no matter how much he hated having them involved. But they were involved whether he liked it or not; Terry's girlfriend, his best friend, and the only witness to his abduction would be considered prime targets by the press and while he suspected Dalrymple could easily handle them he wasn't so sure of Dana and the thought of Max in the hands of a skilled reporter made his blood run cold. Or was that the thought of a skilled reporter in the hands of Max? "Is there anyone else who you think should be here, Mrs. McGinnis?"  
  
"I think at this point you can call me Mary, Mr. Wayne. And no, I can't think of anyone. So what should we do?"  
  
"We'll all have to talk to them eventually, with or without a press conference- hopefully without. It's best to be open, honest, and completely uninformative. Right now there isn't anything we need to hide about his condition but that doesn't mean they need to know everything. At this point I'd say use your own best judgment. If something comes up we can reassess our strategy. If they get pushy, push back. Try not to get physical."  
  
"And if you do, remember that heads are hard, stomachs are soft."  
  
"Thank you, Tim. Barbara?"  
  
"I'll be arranging for a more obvious police presence in all of your neighborhoods, and not just to deter the press. It seems unlikely, but it is possible the Jokerz may come after you, especially if Terry wakes up soon."  
  
"Wakes up?" Max and Dana chorused. Dalrymple frowned.  
  
"My dear Commissioner, that is a rather ominous choice of words. Exactly what, may I ask, is the lad's condition?"  
  
"I'm afraid he's in a coma. The Jokerz beat him very badly. He has... numerous injuries."  
  
"Dear God," Dalrymple whispered, paling. Dana gasped, tears springing up in her eyes. Max, for once, was speechless.   
  
"We've spoken to his doctor," Bruce said. "He has every expectation Terry will make a full recovery. He seems competent-"  
  
"But you're going to investigate him anyway," Tim muttered.  
  
"Of course. I'm also planning on calling in a few-" He broke off as his phone rang. Shrugging apologetically, he checked the caller id, then almost smiled as he recognized the number. "I think I'd better take this one; excuse me. -Hello Virgil. I wasn't expecting to hear from you quite so soon. -oh. Of course. - Yes. -No, unfortunately. He's in a coma and there are other complications. ....... -Yes, I know. -Why am I not surprised? -Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you, Virgil, and thank Richie for me."  
  
He rang off to find Tim and Barbara grinning at each other.  
  
"So," Tim said, "What's Foley built this time? Or should I ask?"  
  
"Nothing yet.. He was working on a device that would locate Terry's DNA, but when he heard the news he converted it into an ultra-high-resolution vidcam with built-in Web access."  
  
"Figures."  
  
"I have got to meet this guy," Max breathed, impressed.  
  
"You probably will" *and God help us all when you do* "Because they'll be here in a few days. Richie's already started work on something to pinpoint how soon Terry will wake up. He expects to have it ready by the time he and Virgil get here."  
  
"Figures," Tim repeated. "Well, back to business, I guess."  
  
"Yes. Barbara?"  
  
"Right. Mr. Dalrymple, I'm particularly worried about you. I'd like to put you in a safe house."  
  
"Safer than the Clarendon? My dear lady, the Jokerz haven't dared show their faces in that area since the Noodle Incident three years ago. Do you know on hot summer days you can still smell the oregano? I do thank you for your concern and I give you my word that I will be more cautious, but the Clarendon is my home and I do not wish to leave it. Besides," he concluded wryly, "where else would I find a community in which I was not considered eccentric or even completely mad?"  
  
"Is Marleigh Dantriss still there?"  
  
"As creative as ever."  
  
"That's scary. Dahvi Sutherland?"  
  
"Oh, yes."  
  
"Seamus Caveny?"  
  
"Alas, no. He is at present spending thirty days as your guest for contempt of court. I believe he called the judge a corrupt latte-swilling corporate lackey, which was as injudicious as it was accurate. However, Meg Jensen, Tess Miyazaki, and Alex Euresti are still in residence. Would they constitute an effective bodyguard?"  
  
"They'll do. I don't generally approve of using civilians, but in this case... I'm still putting extra patrols in the area, though."  
  
"I trust you will hear few complaints. I would say no complaints, but Miss Harrington is still in residence as well."  
  
"Ouch."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"Right. I'm also putting more men on the security wing. Noone gets in to see him unless they're with one of us or their name is on the list we're about to make. Shall we get to work?"  
  
******************************************  
  
"That was a lot more useful than I expected," Tim commented as he turned onto the road leading to the manor.  
  
"I just hope we convinced Max- and Matt- not to do anything rash."  
  
"Heh. But who were those people Babs and Dalrymple were talking about and do I even want to know about the noodle incident?"  
  
"Ask Barbara. Or Dalrymple."  
  
"Be good to see Virgil and Richie again."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So, how badly are you wanting to throttle that Miller woman?"  
  
"Very. I'd hoped to keep this quiet, but we never really had a chance. First the screwup with the police scanner and that reporter recognizing Terry's name, now this... It's frustrating. Mary doesn't need this. I don't need this. And Terry certainly doesn't. But we've got it, and now we're going to have to deal with the consequences."  
  
****************************************  
  
In a tiny two bedroom apartment at the Clarendon a slim, pretty blonde carefully smoothed her cowl over her pinned up hair. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she nodded, satisfied.  
  
"Almost ready, Jack?"  
  
"I'm waiting for you, actually. Mel, are you sure about this?"  
  
Melanie Walker strode into the kitchen/living room/everything else.  
  
"I dumped Terry so I wouldn't ruin his life. I hoped maybe when when I finally straightened myself out... He cared, Jack. He risked his job, his relationship, even his freedom to help me. If I'd been caught there, he'd have been charged as an accessory, you know that. I owe him.. Even if I didn't, I still love him and I'm going to make those dregs pay for what they did to him."  
  
Jack eyed his sister warily. She'd been obsessing over this boy the way their father had over Batman, and that worried him.  
  
"How far are you planning on taking this?"  
  
"We don't kill. I want them dead, but I'd never be able to face him if I'd killed somebody. Now let's go."  
  
*******************************************  
  
On a rooftop in Old Town Stalker kept an enhanced eye out for Jokerz. They had tried to take his prey- and without even a proper hunt. They were no better than the hyenas prized by the maniac they worshiped. They were not worth killing. Instead, he would do as the Bat would and leave them where the police could easily find them.. And if one or two were damaged on the way, so be it. Stalker smiled faintly as he caught sight of of a thatch of green hair. It was time to hunt.  
  
*******************************************  
  
On a houseboat on the Gotham river, Mad Stan replayed Mary McGinnis' comment for the 37th time. This was his kind of woman. Okay, she was with corporate deathlord Bruce Wayne and that tool of a corrupt system Commissioner Gordon, but he could live with that. She was under a lot of stress and probably not thinking clearly, that's all. Besides, despite them being enemies of the people, he kinda liked those two. The Commish was one tough broad and Wayne had given a public smackdown to the True Evil- Derek Powers- on more than one occasion. Also, he suspected if he'd had a chance to go against Wayne in his prime, Wayne would have kicked his butt even easier than Batman. He respected that.  
  
Now what was this other idiot saying? This was the second time the Jokerz had hit that family? They'd killed the woman's ex-husband and now they put her kid in the hospital? That wasn't right. The Jokerz were a living symbol of everything wrong with this corrupt and degenerate city. Someone should do something. But what?  
  
Blow 'em all up, of course.  
  
"BLOW 'EM ALL UP!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"   
  
*******************************************  
  
Still continuing... 


	7. OneWay Conversations, Pt 1

All of this chapter and most of the next are little character bits. I'm crunching my way through a massive bout of writer's block, so the next chapter may be the last for a little while. It isn't done yet (this is going to be LONG), but I don't have any more written.  
  
YT1- Virgil and Richie are from Static Shock. The others are just names I hauled out of my head for other residents of the Clarendon. They'll all show up at some point or other. Almost everyone who has appeared on the series will show up or at least be mentioned during this story.  
  
LeaMarie F. Rocket- I confess, I stole that line from "Red Dwarf." Any time you need a good insult and can't come up with one on your own, watch British TV. It never fails.  
  
****************************************  
  
Bruce sat, gingerly taking Terry's hand in his own.  
  
"Hello, Terry."  
  
There was an awkward silence as he tried to think of something to say. More specifically, he tried to decide which of the large number of things filling his thoughts he actually wanted to talk about.  
  
"Dick was right- I really do suck at these heart-to-hearts. Even when I'm not sure the other person can hear me."  
  
He sighed.  
  
"I've.... missed you. I'd say the house is too quiet without you but with Tim and Max around 'quiet' is definitely not an option. Still, you know what I mean. I didn't realize how accustomed I'd become to having you around."  
  
The awkward silence returned. After a while Bruce cleared his throat.  
  
"I'll be here every day. I can promise that, at least."  
  
The silence won.  
  
*******************************************  
  
Max slipped her hand into Terry's and attempted to smile.  
  
"Hey, Ter. Geez, you look bad. Next time you decide to take on the whole band of Jokerz, do me a favor- don't. We've been going nuts trying to find you, ya know. I don't think Wayne's had more than a few hours sleep in the past couple weeks and you know he's gettin' too old for that. Not that I'm worried about him or anything. 'Sides, Drake seems to be able to keep him in line. Him I like. He showed me this totally schway method of getting into the NSA's- uh, you don't want to hear that. Hey, I finally got in the Batcave, though! I wish you could have seen the Old Man's face when he saw me following Superman- Superman!- down the stairs. It was beautiful, I'm tellin' you. And I think I've fallen in love with the Batcomputer."  
  
Now the smile was genuine.  
  
"But seriously, Ter, I gotta tell you something. I should have told you this a long time ago. I love you. I really do. You're the skinny, pasty-faced brother I never had. So wake up so's I can see you face when I tell you this for real, okay?"  
  
**************************************  
  
Dana held Terry's hand gently between her own.  
  
"Oh, Terry, I'm so sorry. And I'm sorry if I don't get in to see you every day, but Dad's being such a twip about this. There are times when I just want to tell him to get his head out of his butt, I swear. But you don't need to hear that. Ms. Maguire and Dr. Tikkainen said we should talk to you to keep your brain stimulated or something like that, but some things it's just better not to talk about. So I'll fill you in on all the good gossip you've missed instead. You're gonna love this..."  
  
***************************************  
  
A long, lean figure climbed in the window. He looked first at the charts and monitors, then at Terry.  
  
"The hunt goes well, Batman. I have kept to my word and delivered them to the police alive and comparatively unharmed. I wished you to know that. Rest well and heal quickly, that you may return to the hunt as well."  
  
He left as swiftly and silently as he entered.  
  
***************************************  
  
Mary held her son's hand in a firm but gentle grip.  
  
"Terry, hon, I have to tell you something and I don't think you'll like it. I'm going out on a date tonight with a man I just met. Don't worry, I'm meeting him at the restaurant and then we'll see. I'm not taking stupid chances, especially not now. He seems sweet but a bit excitable, and he doesn't seem to like the government much. But then, who does? And he brought me violets."  
  
She smiled sadly.  
  
"There's something else I have to tell you that you won't like. I know about your real job. I've known for months. I know I laughed when you tried to tell me that time and I can't tell you how sorry I am about that but it got me thinking, too. There were so many little clues- the way you disappeared at odd hours, the injuries you tried to hide, the way you woke up cranky when a criminal got away from Batman the night before... What finally did it was when you and Dana were attacked at the club the night Mr. Wayne supposedly had that bad fall. Those Jokerz were the ones working for THE Joker; I recognized them when I saw the pictures. And the witnesses agreed they went straight for you. Like my father's friends used to say, add it all up and it spells 'duh'. Especially when you vanished for a few days and suddenly Batman was everywhere. I thought about telling you I knew, but I decided not to and I can't really give you a good reason. I thought about ordering you to stop- that lasted about five seconds. If I did that, I'd be making you choose between us and I couldn't do that to you. Whichever way you went, it would break your heart. I put your father in that position once without meaning to, and you've been paying for it all your life. And besides- I'm so very proud of you. And your father would be, too."  
  
***************************************  
  
Barbara took his hand casually, not even thinking about it.  
  
"Well, kid, it's a real mess out there. I wish you could see the news- you could probably use the laughs. Jack and Ten, Stalker, Mad Stan, for God's sake. The first three I can understand, but- no, I'm not sure I want to know what's up with him. You've made some strange friends, McGinnis. Of course, in our line of work, that's normal."  
  
She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  
  
"Terry, I've waited too long to tell you this: despite my feelings on costumed vigilantes, I have to admit you've done a good job. But more importantly, you've been good for Bruce. For all of us. I didn't even realize I'd been missing him until I had to start talking to him again, because of you. I... do have a small confession to make, by the way. That first time we talked, I mean really talked, I wasn't completely honest with you. I led you to think Bruce and I had been more than partners- well, we were, in a way. I wanted you to think about what he'd thrown aside and I thought it might have more of an impact if you thought I was one of his exes. But to him I was always Dick's Girl, and to me... okay, I did have a massive crush on him for a while. Thank God, I got over it before I embarrassed both of us. He knew, of course, but pretended he didn't. Again, thank God. Anyway, we're talking again, and Tim's back. You did that. You've got a good heart, kid. A little too good, sometimes, and definitely more trusting than is really healthy, but better that than not trusting anyone, I guess. And I suppose I shouldn't complain since that's probably the only reason you were still speaking to me after that fiasco with Spellbinder and Mad Stan."  
  
She sighed.  
  
"You have to wake up, Terry. If you don't... I really think losing you would kill Bruce."  
  
****************************************  
  
The old woman snuck in as a cleaning lady. Approaching the bed, she winced as she got a good look at Terry.  
  
"Aw, they cut off your pretty hair."  
  
She patted his hand cautiously, as though she was afraid it would fall off. When it didn't, she put her hand over his and left it there. Her still-bright blue eyes dimmed for a moment.  
  
"I just wanted you to know, my girls had nothing to do with this. They didn't even know about it until it was too late. See, they'd been thinkin' about leaving the gang anyway so the others didn't trust 'em. When I got 'em home after bailing them out that last time I told 'em what Pud- uhhh, I mean Mr. J- had done to Bird Boy. Didn't spare the details, either. Delia passed out when I got to the part where- you don't wanna know. Anyway, that started 'em wonderin' if he was really the guy they wanted to devote their lives to. Then when this happened, they finally quit. They made the right choice, didn't they?"  
  
She hesitated, then froze as she heard footsteps approaching. Looking around for somewhere to hide, she dismissed under the bed (too visible) and the bathroom (what if someone wanted to use it?). Just as the door started to open, she dove into the closet, pulling the door almost shut. She peeked through the crack, wondering who the snooty old trout was.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Yes, I am leaving it there. For now. EG 


	8. OneWay Conversations, Pt 2

Good news- I was able to do some writing last night, so there's another chapter ready after this one.  
  
********************************************  
  
The old trout didn't sit down or take Terry's hand. Instead, she glared at him malevolently.  
  
"You had to turn up, didn't you? I thought we'd finally seen the last of you, but then, you always were a disappointment. You couldn't even die properly, could you? If what that idiot doctor says is true, you'll be back to your old tricks in a few months. You are a disgrace to the family and you'll never be anything else. And I don't know what your mother was thinking, letting you work for the likes of Bruce Wayne- but that's just like you, cozying up to a rich old man, not caring what you have to do to get your hands on his money. I've heard the stories; I know all about him. It's disgusting what men like him get away with just because they're rich and powerful."  
  
Harley tuned out the rest of the diatribe, trying to think of the best way to handle this. A few ideas immediately popped into her mind; she sternly reminded herself she'd given up that sort of thing decades ago. Still, this woman was tempting her to make a comeback.  
  
The old trout was wrapping up, she realized. Maybe if she followed her... no. That wouldn't work. She wasn't as young as she used to be- duh, Harley!- and trailing someone without being noticed was hard work. Besides, it shouldn't be too hard to figure out who she was. All Harley had to do was get her hands on the list of authorized visitors. After that it was just a process of elimination. She'd get the DeeDees to help.  
  
Suddenly she realized the old trout was gone. Harley had been sitting and brooding in the closet for no good reason for at least 5 minutes.  
  
"Ah, nuts. What's the point of displaying improved moral fiber if they escape anyway?"  
  
**********************************************  
  
Dick Grayson sat, just looking at Terry. He'd made a point of coming when Bruce couldn't possibly show up. Not because he was avoiding Bruce, but because he wanted a chance to see a few things for himself. Admittedly, he hadn't seen or spoken to Bruce since just after he'd heard about the new Batman. He couldn't honestly say he'd spoken to Bruce then, either. Ranted and raved, perhaps, but not spoken. When he'd heard about Shriek's holding the city hostage it had been all he could do not to call and say "I told you so". He had watched the live coverage of the search for Batman's body, however, and had been relieved when the kid turned up alive. In fact, he'd been proud of the kid for the way he'd handled himself- not just then, but many times. He may not approve of Bruce throwing the kid in the line of fire, but he had to admit the kid was good. Damn good. Annoyingly good. He could see Bruce's influence, but the kid had obviously had his own style even before he got the suit. Dick remembered how often he'd complained- okay, whined- that Bruce wouldn't let him be his own man. Maybe it was because Terry had been older when he'd met Bruce, but the problem didn't seem to be cropping up as much. Of course, Barbara had told him about some pretty impressive shouting matches between the two, so it wasn't all roses. On the other hand, the fact that they happened at all was a good sign; it meant Bruce cared. If he didn't, he wouldn't bother yelling.  
  
Dick was rather surprised that Bruce had let himself get attached again, considering his track record. While the Old Man hadn't allowed himself another Robin, he'd taken in three more wards after Tim. Each one had died- one in a plane crash, one of leukemia, and one, of all things, in a tornado. After that, Bruce had refused to get involved in the lives of any more young men. In fact, that was when he'd started to withdraw from his social rounds. It got worse when Alfred died, worse still after the first heart attack, and by the time he lost the company he'd pretty much become a hermit.  
  
"Why you, kid? Even Babs can't figure it out. Not that I have anything against you, despite what I said to Bruce that time- which I was completely wrong about, but don't tell him I said that, and I'm babbling. Still- why? Out of the millions of hard-luck kids in the world, he chose you- years after he said "never again". I'm glad you changed his mind; I just wish I knew how you did it." Dick smiled. "I mean it, McGinnis. Bruce and I may have our problems- lots of problems- but I've hated the way he just seemed to be waiting to die until you came along. The pictures I've seen of him lately, until this happened, anyway, he's been looking years younger and I don't think it has anything to do with that dip in the Lazarus Pit. Yeah, Babs told me about that. She thinks the lingering effects from that are what saved Bruce from the Joker's attack. With his heart condition, he should have been dead long before you got there. I hate to think we owe the Hairdo- Ra's- anything, though."  
  
He stood and paced, trying to figure out how to say what he meant, not realising how much he resembled Bruce in that respect. After a while he sat again.  
  
"Listen, kid, I know I should have given you this spiel a long time ago, but I didn't, and that's my own fault for being as much of a pigheaded idiot as the Old Man. So here it is now: if you're going to do the whole spandex-and-kevlar thing, you couldn't have a better teacher. Okay, yeah, he's bad-tempered, overbearing, and a control freak, but he'll keep you alive. You'll have to worry about staying sane yourself, though, 'cause that's not his strong suit. ...That didn't come out right. What I mean is he's not too good at dealing with emotions. He understands the theory, but in practice..." Dick shook his head. "It's easy to let him convince you he doesn't care, but believe me, he does. Babs said he tried to fire you when the Joker came back, which pretty much proves it. He may try again when you're back on your feet; don't let him. I may not understand what it is with you two, but I can tell you need each other. And even if I never get up the nerve to see him again, I need to know he's got someone looking after him like Babs says you do."  
  
*******************************************  
  
"Jeez, he's just a kid!"  
  
"He's older than you were when you started, and you didn't have the big guy looking over your shoulder."  
  
"Yeah, but-"  
  
"And he already knew how to fight."  
  
"Shut up," Virgil Hawkins muttered, ignoring his friend's victory cackle. Looking again at Terry, he shook his head. It just wasn't right, Batman getting taken out by Jokerz. He wondered how many there had been. Rich Foley cocked his head; Virgil had said that last aloud without realising it.  
  
"How many what?"  
  
"Jokerz. No way Bruce would've let him work that gig if he couldn't handle himself. He had to be seriously outnumbered."  
  
"Yeah. I wonder if I could-"  
  
"One thing at a time, Brain Boy."  
  
Maybe later, then."  
  
Rich turned his attention to the monitors; Virgil could see him almost twitching with the desire to take them apart and improve them.  
  
"Sit in the corner, Richie."  
  
He sat, but not in the corner. Instead he grabbed the chair by the windows- the one furthest away from the source of his temptation. Virgil sat by Terry's bed.  
  
The years had been kind to Virgil, less so to Rich. Virgil had only recently retired from full-time superheroing; Rich had been forced to retire 15 years earlier when he'd developed asthma as the result of a training accident with a fledgling metahuman. The girl who'd caused the accident had been very fragile emotionally so Rich had put on the performance of a lifetime and convinced her he'd been looking for an excuse to retire to spend more time in the lab. Only Virgil knew how hard it had really been on his best friend.  
  
"Hey, at least I've still got my looks," Rich said, knowing what his long-time partner was thinking.  
  
"What looks?"  
  
"Some things never change."  
  
The two men jumped to their feet as Bruce entered the room with Dr. Tikkainen and Mary. Hurried introductions were made, then Rich explained his latest invention.  
  
"What this does, basically, is measure his brain waves, heart rate, and a couple dozen other factors, compare them with his usual condition- which we know thanks to the records you gave us- convert that into an equation, and try to solve it. The solution should be the length of his... condition. It's competely non-invasive and it won't interfere with the monitors that are already in place. We ready?"  
  
"May I take a look at it first?" Mary asked. Rich nodded, not bothering to tell her to be careful. She was hardly going to take a chance on screwing up the machine that would tell her when she'd be getting her son back. Mary studied it, frowning in concentration. "Interesting. Why a Jennings loop? I'd have thought a Nigma cross would have been more efficient."  
  
Rich and Virgil gaped at her. Bruce almost smiled.  
  
"Perhaps you didn't know Mary is an inventor in her own right. In fact, I see you've incorporated some of her work in your device."  
  
"You're that Mary McGinnis?" Rich gasped. "Ohmigodohmigodohmigod- I don't believe this! Virgil, this is the McGinnis Solution I've told you about at least a million times! And I'm here in the same room as-"  
  
"Richie- breathe. Now answer the nice lady's question before she decides you're completely insane instead of just halfway nuts."  
  
"Oh. Right. Well, the Jennings loop actually works better when you want something for fine details. The Nigma cross is faster, but not quite as accurate."  
  
"True." Mary handed the machine back to Rich. " Well, I'm ready, as long as Dr. Tikkainen has no objections."  
  
"None. I'm hoping the device works, too."  
  
Rich looked over at Bruce, who nodded. Within seconds he had the necessary sensors attached and the machine was humming the Moonlight Sonata. Everyone looked at Rich, who blushed.  
  
"It seems to have a thing for classical music. I swear I didn't program that in. It has a theoretically low-grade AI in there and when she isn't performing her primary function she seems to be developing her personality. Thing is, it actually seems to make it run smoother, so I haven't messed with it."  
  
Virgil sighed as Bruce raised an eyebrow; they were definitely going to be hearing about this later. Mary seemed as intrigued as she was hopeful, though Dr. Tikkainen looked dubious.  
  
A soft fanfare announced that the machine was finished. Rich checked the display as the others tensed. Finally he sat back with a smile.  
  
"Worked better than I hoped. She says Terry will wake up, and that'll happen in about two-and-a-half to three weeks. However, she exceeded her programming by predicting some probable side effects. They're the usual complications from something like this, but she's put probabilities on each one with a warning that due to the lack of understanding of the exact workings of the human brain she wouldn't guarantee any of them occurring- or not occurring. Ruko also says that with hard work and the proper regimen Terry has a 96.947 percent chance of walking again and a 94.388 percent chance of complete recovery. I think-"  
  
Rich suddenly found himself with an armful of Mary McGinnis, being kissed passionately. Virgil slipped over to Bruce's side, relieved to see the Old Man looking a lot less old suddenly.  
  
"You okay?" he asked softly. Bruce just nodded, but Virgil saw the joyous smile in his eyes- the smile Bruce would never allow himself to display openly. Virgil didn't say anything more, just enjoyed the moment.  
  
**************************************************   
  
More to come, I promise. 


	9. Celebrations & Investigations

This is the last chapter I have written at the moment. I hope to have finished the next chapter by the end of this week, which means it should be up here over the weekend. I hope.  
  
************************************************** ****  
  
Batfan01: Hey, Lil, 'sup?  
  
Batsgrl: heya, mattster. howz the bro?  
  
Batfan01: Mr. F said he'll be fine. Hows he know?  
  
Batsgrl: he a doc?  
  
Batfan01: Uhuh. he used to be Gear.  
  
Batsgrl: ..no way.  
  
Batfan01: Yeah. Pretty schway. Oh. Guess he would know being superbrain. Duh me.  
  
Batsgrl: hows aunt mary takin it?  
  
Batfan01: Happy. Duh you this time.  
  
Batsgrl: ...okayokay. gonna celebrate?  
  
Batfan01: Yeah. We're going out tonight. All of us. Even Mr. Wayne, so i gotta be real good.  
  
Batsgrl: schway. also scary. geek=me what's he like?  
  
Batfan01: schway. also scary. :P Wants everyone to think he's this grumpy old man but he's all squishy really.  
  
Batsgrl: squishy?  
  
Batfan01: Like a marshmello. Like when Terry got in trouble cause he had those drugs (NOT HIS) Mr. Wayne helped him prove they weren't his. And they weren't. Terry wouldn't do drugs. He doens't even like drinking. Saw him try a sip of Uncle Ed's beer once. Shoulda seen his face.   
  
Batsgrl: i did. i was there, remember? can't believe aunt mary thot he'd do drugs. duh her.  
  
Batfan01: Yeah, really. Terry was scared people would think they were his, tho. Cause of his record.   
  
Batfan01: Got a Squirrelthief yet?  
  
Batsgrl: only the first day.  
  
Batfan01: I don't know where mine came from. It just showed up in my room. Max got Terry one. Mr. Wayne got this wierd look on his face when he saw it. Wonder why?  
  
Batfan01: Gotta go. Mom's date is here to bring us to the restaraunt. restaurunt? food place.  
  
Batsgrl: restaurant. howd you get an a on the spelling test? told her who he is yet?  
  
Batfan01: NO! Not gonna. Can't make me. Bye, Lil.  
  
Batfan01 has logged off 18:01:38  
  
Batsgrl has logged off 18:02:05  
  
**********************************************  
  
Tim smiled as he watched Bruce demonstrating the proper way to fold a napkin into a swan. It was such an un-Bruce-like act for the very Brucest of reasons- Rich had said that the napkins would have to be more highly starched than the ones provided in order to do anything fancy with them, so naturally Bruce had to prove him wrong. Barbara was watching too, barely hiding a smile. Her husband wasn't even trying.   
  
Tim was sorry that Max, Dana, and Dalrymple couldn't make it. He'd been looking forward to the meeting between Max and Rich, but it wasn't going to happen this time; Max's cousin was getting married today and Max was a bridesmaid, seafoam green gown and all. Dana's father, on learning of her trips to see Terry, had shipped her off to her aunt in Metropolis. And Dalrymple had come down with a streaming cold. Still, this was a good crowd and Tim was glad that Bruce had consented to join it, even if he had grumbled all the way over.  
  
"It's not a matter of starch," Bruce was saying, "it's a matter of folding at just the right angle to take advantage of the natural... dear god."  
  
Bruce's expression hadn't changed, but his eyes were focused on the door. Barbara made a strangled noise, and Sam Young was gaping. Virgil and Rich exchanged glances.  
  
"Uh, guys, an explanation for the guy with his back to the door," Tim sighed.  
  
"Mary and Matt are here. With an escort." Bruce's "Pleasant Old Man" face was suddenly in place.  
  
"A- what?" Tim wondered if he had spent too long in Gotham.  
  
"Not that kind," Barbara assured him.  
  
"Ohthankgod."  
  
"Hello, everybody," Mary said from behind Tim. "I'd like you all to meet my friend Stan Lebowski. He's been a big help to me lately, just like all of you have, so I though he should be here too."  
  
Tim gaped at Bruce and mouthed the words Mad Stan. Bruce nodded. Tim pasted on a friendly smile, turned to greet them, and prepared for the most surreal night he'd had in years.  
  
He wasn't disappointed. Nobody was going to be the one to break the news to Mary McGinnis, who obviously had no clue as to her friend's career choice. She was the only one at the table who didn't know; even Matt had caught Barbara's eye and winked. He was having a good laugh over it, in fact. Bruce didn't let his mask slip all night, but Tim could tell the Old Man was stunned and aghast. In fact, the last time Tim could remember seeing Bruce act like that was when they'd found Roxy Rocket in bed with The Scarecrow. Barbara and Sam were in the same fix, and Virgil and Rich just shrugged and let it slide.  
  
Stan himself didn't set a foot wrong all evening, which only added to the whole "Twilight Zone" atmosphere. Tim was a bit disturbed to find himself liking the guy. And no matter what else became of the evening, he would always treasure the memory of Mad Stan blithely telling them he was in "urban renewal". Bruce had been about to take a drink of tea; he'd set the cup down quickly. Luckily, Mary and Stan hadn't seen Matt's face at that point.  
  
Just as they were bringing the dinner to an end, Mary had to bring Matt to the bathroom. Bruce siezed his opportunity at once.  
  
"So you're Stan Lebowski."  
  
"That's me."  
  
"Otherwise known as Mad Stan."  
  
Silence. By mutual agreement everyone decided they were going to let Bruce handle this one, if only because they wanted to see what he was going to do.  
  
"Guess you heard of me." Stan's grin wilted a bit.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm not gonna do anything to spoil this for Mary, I swear. She's... she's really something. And if keeping her happy means I gotta play nice with you guys every now and then, well..."  
  
Bruce looked at him for a while then nodded.  
  
"During World War 1, on Christmas Day of 1914, the British and German forces at various points along the French and Belgian borders declared an unofficial truce to celebrate the day."  
  
"Yeah, I know. Figure if they can, we can?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Okay."  
  
There was another brief silence. Bruce broke it.  
  
"But if you cause this family any more trouble you'll learn a whole new meaning to the phrase 'abuse of power'."  
  
Stan and Bruce locked eyes. Finally, to everyone's surprise, Stan grinned.  
  
"Deal. Never would have guessed you as the heavy-handed father type."  
  
Tim and Barbara choked on their drinks.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Harley looked at the list she'd weaseled out of the computer and started eliminating names. She didn't trust The Old Trout not to do something nasty to Poor Terry, but it wasn't going to happen if Harlene Quinzel O'Roarke had anything to say about it.  
  
"Lessee... Howard Groote- no, that's a guy's name. Chelsea Cunningham- could be her-"  
  
"No, Nana Harley, she's our age," Delia called from the other room. Dierdre gasped an agreement from the uneven bars as she flipped around them.  
  
"Howsabout... um... Trista McGinnis?"  
  
Delia popped into the room.  
  
"Don't know her. I'll see what I can find online."   
  
A few minutes later they had their answer. Trista was in her early 30's, far too young to be the woman Harley had seen.  
  
"Barbara Gordon, no; Maxine Gibson, no; Dana Tan, no; Lydia Palmer?"  
  
Another check, another negative. She was the right age, but The Old Trout wasn't Native American. Harley wondered what her connection was, then decided it didn't matter.   
  
"Aw, c'mon! She's gotta be on here somewhere! She got in to see him!"  
  
"So did you, Nana Harley," the twins chorused.  
  
"Shuddup. That's different. I used to be a bad guy; I'm supposed to sneak around!"  
  
"She didn't exactly sound like the sweetness-and-light-type," Dierdre pointed out, moving to the balance beam. "Nana Harley, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, if Old Man Wayne finds out we've been messing around with his life again- this guy is seriously rich and powerful even without the whole Batman thing!"  
  
"We're not messing with Brucie's life."  
  
"Close enough," Delia muttered, then, incredulously: "Brucie?"  
  
"Don't ask, Dee," her twin shuddered.  
  
"Look, you two, we owe them. I helped ruin Brucie's life years ago and you two almost killed Poor Terry. This may be our only chance to set things right."  
  
"Yeah, but what's the point if we can't tell them we did anything?"  
  
"It's- well-" Harley stuttered a bit and finally glared at them. "It's a highly complex moral issue that you two are far too young to understand."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Okay."  
  
The DeeDees exchanged a look and a single thought: she doesn't know either.  
  
************************************************** ******  
  
Scab, Trey, and Anti-Mime huddled in an abandoned building, afraid for their lives. The whole city had gone nuts, they thought.  
  
"Man, what is it with that kid?" Scab growled. "So we laid the smack on a guy who's been dissin' us for years. Big fuckin' deal! Why's everyone so uptight?"  
  
"Maybe our timing just sucks," Trey shrugged. "Sometimes that's all it takes, y'know?"  
  
Anti-Mime nodded.  
  
"Ain't it the truth. If we'd done it a day later, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Or maybe this is because we decided to pick on the personal assistant of BRUCE FRIKKIN' WAYNE!!! That guy owns this town and we had to go and tork him off. I told you it was a bad idea, soon as I heard who he was. But NOOOOOO, you guys have to have your payback anyway. Shoulda just capped him if you had to try to kill him- it's the beatdown that's got everyone pissed."  
  
"Hey, shut up! So what if he's Wayne's toy? Ain't nobody too big for The Jokerz!"  
  
Trey and Anti-Mime just rolled their eyes. Scab's ego always had been bigger than he was, which was saying something; still, even for him, that was a dumb thing to say. They sat quietly for a while before Anti-Mime thought of something.  
  
"Hey, guys- on the news they said we'd killed No Fun Boy's father. Even showed a picture- I mean, a picture of the guy when he was alive. He look familiar to you?"  
  
Scab looked up sharply.  
  
"Hey, yeah, I remember him. First any of our group heard of him was when we got accused of offing him. How 'bout you guys?"  
  
"Wasn't my bunch," Trey protested.  
  
"Not mine, either," Anti-Mime agreed. "I've run into members of almost all the major Jokerz gangs in this town, and nobody can remember seeing that guy before his picture got splashed all over the Web. What's that say to you?"  
  
Scab and Trey scowled.  
  
"We got set up to take the fall," Scab snarled. "Man, when I get my hands on the dreg who thought he could pull that-"  
  
"You won't."  
  
The three froze. Looking toward the empty window, they saw a long, lean form.  
  
"Oh, slaggit," Trey whispered.  
  
"He is dead. You would be as well, but I have promised to bring you in alive."  
  
"You'll never take me alive!" Scab screamed. Trey and Anti-Mime groaned.  
  
"He said it- not us!"  
  
"As you wish."  
  
And Stalker smiled.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Insert standard continuation comment here. 


	10. Waiting

*-* denotes thoughts  
  
**************************************************   
  
Chelsea Cunningham paced as she waited for Dana to call. Getting news to her friend was getting harder and harder; Dana's Aunt Lucy was worse than her brother, Dana's father, and was trying to keep Dana's pure little ears from being sullied by talk of "that awful McGinnis boy."   
  
*I can't believe she really said that- god, she's so twentieth century!* Chelsea threw a pillow at the wall. After this, she'd probably be forbidden to speak to Dana again just like Max was. All of Terry's closest friends had been banned by Aunt Lucy. Dana hadn't been happy about that, any more than she was happy about being shipped off like a baby, missing her classes, and not being able to visit Terry. If her family had realised that Chelsea not only didn't dislike Terry but had developed what she hoped was just a crush on him after he'd come for her at Wheeler's... What is their problem? Harshing on Terry and saying Dana could be dating a "nice" boy like Nelson? Please. Terry's worth ten of Nelson. He wouldn't have run off and left Blade to almost get stomped by a giant robot. And Nelson would never have risked his life going after those Jokerz who hurt Dana. Nelson wouldn't have used his connections to help me find a decent place to live away from my father, either.  
  
"I owe you, McGinnis," she muttered. *Why won't that slagging phone ring?*  
  
She continued pacing.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
"Where's His Royal Highness?"  
  
Shriek yawned. Billings, in his opinion, talked too much. If he answered, the guy would take that as an invitation for a heart-to-heart. Shriek supposed it was because the guy had been a psychiatrist or whatever, but that didn't make him any less annoying.  
  
"Solitary," Jim Tate responded. "I had to haul him off Splicerboy after the twip made some crack about his family going legit. He acted like it was a bad thing."  
  
Shriek and Billings exchanged a look. Tate just didn't get it. He probably neverwould. But then, he'd only put on his costume to steal his own work back from the company that dumped him. So it got a bit out of hand, so what? Batman had no sense of humor. The law had even less. The result was they had to put up with a guy who was only there because he'd worn a suit to commit a few crimes. He wasn't One Of Them. Section F, to its residents, was the Elite section, a section that had Standards. Costumed criminals only, thank you. These people liked to think of themselves as the new Rogues Gallery; the fact that they were the only ones who called themselves that was irrelevant.  
  
"Mind if I catch the news?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer and turned the TV on.  
  
"- the royalties were not paid to the proper parties, thereby rendering the contract void. Bailey-Barre Music is expected to contest the court's ruling. And in other news, Wayne-Powers Industries has announced that it is returning to its original name, Wayne Industries. In this statement by-"  
  
"Trying to forget about Glowboy and Junior, huh?" Shriek grinned. "Can't say I blame them- if I had a chance to forget Derek Powers, I know I'd jump on it. Hell, he's the one who got me into this gig in the first place. If he wasn't radioactive goo on the ocean floor somewhere-"  
  
"-you'd probably be radioactive ash on a floor somewhere," Spellbinder sniped.  
  
"Hey, shut up, you two- this is what I was waiting for!"  
  
"-the story of Mr. Wayne's young assistant has taken a more cheerful turn with the arrival on the scene of Richard Foley, the superinventor formerly known as Gear-"  
  
"Ah, who cares?"  
  
"Shut up," Tate and Spellbinder snapped, riveted to the set. Shriek rolled his eyes and turned off his hearing. So some kid got smacked around by the Jokerz. Big slagging deal. Happened every day. The only reason anyone cared about this kid is because he worked for Bruce Wayne. Well, whatever the news was, it sure was making Tate happy. For that matter, Spellbinder looked pretty pleased too. Maybe he should turn his hearing back on...  
  
"-Jared's best friend, remember? You should remember, you used both of them and it was my wedding you broke up when you were starting out."  
  
"Oh. Heh. It was, wasn't it. Sorry about that." Spellbinder sighed. "You know, if I'd thought about it, I probably wouldn't have used McGinnis. Would you believe I actually forgot about his record? Even I have my brainfarts, I guess."  
  
"You could have got him sent back to Juvy," Tate growled. "He didn't deserve that. He's a good kid."  
  
"If he's such a good kid, how'd he end up in Juvy?" Shriek asked. He didn't actually care, but it was better than hearing yet another rehash of last night's King-Cuvier fight.  
  
"His parents were gearing up for a divorce, even if they hadn't figured it out yet, the kid got in with a bad crowd. Happens all the time," Spellbinder explained. "Came out of it with some anger-management issues that I got elected to deal with. Then his father got murdered, he went to work for Wayne, and I had my bright idea. In a wierd way, I'm glad Batman was there that night. Not that I'm glad I was caught, but I'd have felt pretty bad if the kid ended up in jail because of me."  
  
"You should feel bad anyway- pulling that stunt on Chelsea Cunningham helped get her sent to Wheeler's, and you know what happened there. Hell, if it hadn't been for McGinnis-"  
  
"Waitaminute." Shriek held up a hand. "Is this kid some sort of trouble magnet? He ends up in Juvy, his father gets murdered, Billings here uses him as an unwilling accomplice, he gets sent to Wheeler's- am I missing anything?"  
  
Spellbinder and Tate blinked.  
  
"He's right," Tate admitted. "Except he didn't get sent to Wheeler's; he was snooping around because he had a bad feeling about it. Wheeler caught him and was planning on sticking him in a sensory-deprivation tank and then killing him, but Terry and this other kid started a riot that brought the house down. Batman showed up eventually, but it was really Terry and the other kid who did the hard work. But, yeah, he does get in a lot of trouble. It's not his fault, from what Jared says- trouble just seems to find him."  
  
Spellbinder laughed.  
  
"Maybe he should try being Batman- at least then he'd have a good excuse!"  
  
They all laughed at that, then one by one sobered.   
  
"Hey, you don't think...'" Shriek started, then shook his head.  
  
"Nah," Spellbinder replied. "He wouldn't have had time, not with school, work, and his family. He is a good enough fighter, though..."  
  
"He's a kid." Tate rolled his eyes. "Okay, so he routinely took out Jokerz in groups of five or six- that doesn't make him Batman! Besides, Batman was still out patrolling after Terry was attacked."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Right."  
  
There was a brief silence.  
  
"It was a dumb idea, anyway," Shriek grumbled.   
  
****************************************************  
  
Dana swore at her luggage as its wheels caught in a crack for the thousandth time. She didn't dare take a taxi because her father would be able to track her if she did, which meant sticking to public transportation. It also meant doing a lot of walking because of course there was no direct route from the train station to Chelsea's place. She just hoped Chelsea would let her stay for a while. Only until she could get a room on-campus, of course, but Gotham University acted pretty slowly on housing matters, she'd heard.  
  
*But I don't care. Dad said as long as I lived under his roof I had to obey his rules. Well, if that means I have to give up on Terry while he needs all the help he can get, then screw him. And if I can't stay with Chelsea, then maybe I can stay with Max- or even get a room at the Clarendon. It wouldn't be what I'm used to, but Mr. Dalrymple says it's clean and that they keep things fixed, so I can deal. Daddy is just going to have to get used to the fact that I'm not five years old anymore and will just do whatever I'm told. And I am not going to be shipped off to Aunt Lucy like I was being sent to my room for not eating my beets! One more day of her nagging and I would have been the next costumed terror to hit Metropolis! Dana Ming-Wei Tan, that scourge of dimwit aunts, bane of overbearing fathers, and general all-around defier of adult authority- The Runaway!* Dana giggled. *God, I need sleep. Or caffeine. Or both. Both would be good. Those train seats just aren't made for sleeping.*  
  
She looked up, surprised to find herself at Chelsea's door. Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell.  
  
*************************************************** 


	11. Author's Note Mixed Emotions & Dog Day A...

Author's note! Followed by a short chapter.  
  
I have to respond to Weather Marmalade's review. Why? Because for one thing, it's a damn good review. For another, there were some valid points brought up which I should address.  
  
1) I admit I've been throwing names about. I've tried to keep this limited to conversations, but I may have slipped up here and there. I tend not to worry about in in conversations because that's what people do- speak in a verbal shorthand that they and a few others understand but leave the rest in the dark. Sometimes it's even unintentional. I'm hereby identifying all the names I've dropped and identifying original characters.. (WARNING- MANY SPOILERS)  
  
Ch1: Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock- The first one everyone should know. Bullock was a cop they created (I think) for Batman: The Animated Series. A fat, loud-mouth slob who didn't like Batman much.  
  
Ch2: Dreyfus, Rosten, DeLacey, Dalrymple, Lydia Voorhies- All original characters. Lydia was invented because there would have been another set of prints on the groceries and I went with this.   
  
Ch3: Lots of names in this one, so I'll do it one by one.  
  
Howard Groote- a recurring character in the series. A friend of Terry's. Stereotypical nerdboy who Terry tries to protect from, well, himself, mostly.  
  
Big Time- formerly Charlie Bigelow. He used to be Terry's best friend and was the reason Terry ended up in Juvenile Hall. (Some friend) When Charlie got out of jail he took advantage of Terry's friendship and position with Bruce Wayne to get inside Wayne-Powers. It ended badly. He appeared in two different episodes, both times trying to use Terry; the second time put him in a high position in the Gotham underworld (assuming he survived, which I do).  
  
Tamara- the little psychic girl from the episode "Mind Games".  
  
Dr. Wheeler- the villain from "The Last Resort". One of the villains who met Terry both in and out of costume. In fact, he saw more of Terry than of Batman and it seemed reasonable that he would blame Terry for his downfall.  
  
Queen- a member of the Royal Flush Gang. Her daughter fell for Terry, which created a set of divided loyalties (even though she didn't know Terry was Batman). The end result was the dissolution of the family, with both Queen and King landing in jail while Ten and Jack tried to go legit.  
  
J-Man- one of the Jokerz. He showed up almost every time the Jokerz were in an episode. His real name was never given, so I created one. The pun (think "Joe Curtis") was purely accidental.  
  
Static- Virgil Hawkins. He and Rich Foley are both from the show "Static Shock", which has been connected to the DC cartoon universe. Virgil knows Batman's identity, and I figured Rich would learn eventually.  
  
Ch4: Emma, Nurse Maguire, Dr. Miller- original characters.  
  
Ch5: Dr. Tikkainen- original character.  
  
Ch6: Dantriss, Sutherland, Caveney, Jensen, Miyazaki, Euresti- original characters. Will appear evetually.  
  
Derek Powers- the man who had Terry's father killed, starting the whole show. He became Blight and is theoretically a puddle of radioactive goo on the ocean floor, although his body was never found. He also used to run Wayne-Powers, having taken Wayne Industries from Bruce in a hostile takeover.  
  
Ch8: The Old Trout- that would be telling...  
  
Ra's- Ra's al Ghul. One of the Bruce's enemies. Some think he was Bruce's arch-enemy, but I disagree. Uses a Lazarus Pit to stay young, and when that stopped working he stole his own daughter's body so he could stay alive. He also tried to steal Bruce's body. I got Dick's nickname for him from Chris Dee's "Cat Tales" stories, I think.  
  
Ch9: Batsgrl- Terry and Matt's cousin Lily, original character. I figured there had to be more family out there somewhere, because while it is possible both of Terry's parents were only children it did seem unlikely. (Sorry if that section was a bit unclear.)  
  
Uncle Ed- Lily's father, also OC.  
  
Roxy Rocket- one of Bruce's villains. Not a serious threat and only showed up twice that I recall. She was in it for the thrills.  
  
Trista McGinnis- Terry's aunt, OC. Just a name on a list at this point.  
  
Lydia Palmer- OC. Will appear later.  
  
Scab and Trey- Jokerz. Scab is part of J-Man's gang. Trey was part of Terminal's (from "Hidden Agenda").  
  
Anti-Mime- OC. One of the Jokerz.  
  
Ch10: Lucy Tan- OC. Dana's obnoxious aunt in Metropolis.  
  
Shriek- recurring villain. He was in debt to Derek Powers and was blackmailed into trying to kill Bruce. During a fight with Batman, the suit he used (and had invented) to give him his powers was damaged, resulting in permanent deafness. He has met Terry out of costume, but doesn't know it.  
  
His Royal Highness- King of the Royal Flush Gang.  
  
Splicerboy- Dr.Cuvier (from the episode "Splicers")  
  
Tate- "Big Jim" Tate, known briefly (and somewhat unwillingly) as "Armory". His stepson is a good friend of Terry's, meaning he's met Terry both in and out of the suit. He appeared in at least two episodes, the first being the episode that introduced Spellbinder.  
  
Junior- Paxton Powers, Derek's son. As corrupt as his father, but not as competent. He also tried to have Bruce killed, but he got caught at it.  
  
2) I've set this story after the events in "Return Of The Joker". Terry and his friends are in college now. And since I can't think how to work "The Killing Joke" and "ROTJ" into the same universe, I've decided there was no Oracle in this timeline. Barbara has made a reference to having been shot while in costume and that may come into play in the future. This story is very loosely base on the storyline "Knightfall" from the comics. ("Based on" meaning I looked at it and wondered, "Hmmm, now what would happen if Terry was seriously injured?") It also got melded with an idea from another project of mine.  
  
3) I hadn't even thought of writing a bit for Nelson until you brought it up, but now it's opening this chapter. Thanks for the idea!  
  
4) Spellbinder is not going after Terry, although he may come to visit.  
  
5) Praises- Thanks. It took a lot of brainstorming to figure out how everyone might react to something like this and what they might say to Terry if they thought nobody would really hear it. The "Temporary Truce" section was spur-of-the-moment, though; I couldn't resist doing a scene with Bruce coming face to face with the new couple and that bit of World War 1 trivia popped into my head. I figured both men would want to keep Mary from getting hurt again, so that seemed to make sense. And as for the use of history, well... I'm a history geek.  
  
6) Aunt Lucy and Lucy Lane aren't actually connected. I hate to admit it, but I'd forgotten about Lucy Lane. Lucy Tan was named for a person I had to work with on several different shows.  
  
7)It was two weeks after Terry's disappearance that he was found. Halloween happened right in the middle of this time, so there were numerous false Batman sightings. Since he probably isn't seen on a regular basis it would take a while for his absence to be noted. At this point in the story Batman has been out of commission for a full month. Yes, people will start to notice.  
  
Now for the next chapter. It's a bit short, I'm afraid, but that's okay because the Author's Note is a bit long. The second section is from a point of view not often considered; hopefully the names he's given the regular characters won't be too confusing.  
  
= non-human dialogue or thoughts  
  
  
  
***************************************************  
  
Nelson Nash looked nervously at the e-mail waiting unopened on his computer. The subject read simply "McGinnis". No clues about whether he was alive or dead.   
  
"Why do I even care? I never even liked the twip," he grumbled. Still, he didn't delete it.  
  
Nelson had decided long before senior year that he wouldn't go to college in Gotham; all he really wanted from that place was a ticket out. Now that he was here in Seattle, he told himself he could forget all about the place. No idiot parents to complain about every little thing he did, no obnoxious sister to be compared to, and nothing to prove to anyone. Especially not McGinnis, that skinny little twip who kicked his butt and humiliated him in front of the entire class back in eighth grade. He'd left almost everyone behind. The only one he was still in touch with was Dave, who had joined the Marines. Occasionally he'd get a note from that little weasel Scott who hung around him all the time, and Blade had written once or twice, but that was it. In rare introspective moments he wondered if he should be upset about how easily his circle had forgotten him, but it always passed quickly.  
  
It was Dave, whose sister was dating Howard Groote, of all people, who had told him about McGinnis disappearing. At the time he hadn't thought about it, but when Dave wrote again the next week and said McGinnis was still missing, Nelson was surprised to find himself worrying. He didn't like McGinnis. He never had. The guy had everything Nelson always wanted- parents who cared no matter what stupid thing he'd done, a little brother who acted like an actual kid instead of Miss Super Genius who must be sucked up to constantly, a job with a living legend, a girlfriend to die for- and he didn't even know how damn lucky he was. And then there was the way he was always helping the losers. People like Willie Watt and Howard Groote, who should have been beneath his notice. He could have been part of the A-list- hell, he was, even with his record. So why did he bother? It wasn't like he was expecting to get something out of it; McGinnis just didn't seem to think that way. And people liked him better than they liked Nelson. Even Blade would have rather had McGinnis. Nelson couldn't figure that out. Nelson was the one who was tall, muscular, a jock, rich. He didn't have a record. He hadn't been kicked off every team he'd joined for fighting. But it was McGinnis the kids looked up to and went to for help if they needed it. Somehow the twip had got himself a reputation for being a hero. And he hadn't noticed that, either. It just wasn't fair.  
  
Then last week he'd gotten the news. McGinnis was in a coma. Dave hadn't known all the details, so Nelson had been left hanging. He didn't like McGinnis, he kept telling himself. Why should he care? But he did. Just because he didn't like him that didn't mean he wanted something this bad to happen to him. Getting the crap kicked out of him, sure, but this was just too much.  
  
"Hey, Nash. Homework?"  
  
Nelson looked up. His roommate, Darrel Roby, was leaning against the doorframe.  
  
"E-mail."  
  
"Bad news?"  
  
"...I don't know."  
  
Darrel looked at him for a second, then walked over and sat in the other chair. The two weren't friends, but they didn't hate each other either and Darrel was like McGinnis about butting in if he saw someone having a hard time. Darrel looked at the computer screen.  
  
"McGinnis. Friend of yours?"  
  
"Couldn't stand the guy," Nelson said quietly. Darrel looked at him again, then nodded.  
  
"That makes it harder sometimes. There was a guy who used to get his rocks off by beating up us smaller kids. Then the jerk went and shoved an old lady out of the path of a drunk driver. DOA." Darrel sighed. Nelson winced. He knew Darrel had no way of knowing that Nelson had been the one to keep the losers in line, but the description hit a little close to home.  
  
"He wasn't like that. I just didn't like him."  
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes.  
  
"Open it," Darrel finally ordered. "You're going to go nuts wondering if you don't."  
  
Nelson hesitated, then clicked on it. The two read it as carefully as if their grade point average depended on it. When they finished, both sat back in their chairs, grinning.  
  
"Shoulda known that twip would get outa this," Nelson laughed. "Guy's got the wierdest luck. He'll probably be up and running in half the time just to annoy the doctors."  
  
"I'll drink to that- hey, that sounds like a plan. Come on, I'm buying. And you can tell me all about this guy."  
  
"That's gonna take a lotta drinks..."  
  
****************************************************  
  
NONONONONONOPUTMEDOWNPUTMEDOWNPUTME- AAAAAAA!!!!!!  
  
Ace was not a coward. He would fight to the death to protect Pack Leader or The Pup or even Alpha Female who kept trying to stop his pack from defending their territory. He had taken on opponents many times his size more than once. He'd even fought Not Evil back when Not Evil was Laughing Evil. But he knew his limits, and one of them was that DOGS WERE NOT MEANT TO FLY!!!  
  
He'd bitten Smells Wrong when he was first picked up. That had been a mistake; his teeth still hurt. Smells Wrong looked human enough, but biting him was like biting a rock. And now he was being held like a puppy and being carried through the air above the buildings of Gotham and he wasn't in The Pup's car and he was Not Happy.   
  
They were approaching one of the buildings, one with big letters on its roof. He knew this place. He'd come there when Pack Leader's heart had given him trouble and again when Laughing Evil had died and Not Evil had taken his body back. Ace still didn't really understand that- real dogs stayed in their own bodies. He had decided it was a human thing and therefore not to be understood by intelligent creatures. Just because he awarded a few of them the status of The Pack meant he honestly believed they could understand the true way of the world. In some ways they were worse than cats.  
  
A window opened on the side of the building and Smells Wrong flew toward it. Not Evil and Yappy were waiting there.  
  
"Ohmigod, I can't believe this is working!"  
  
"It was your plan, Max," Not Evil laughed. "Come on, you two, get in here before someone sees you. How was your flight, Ace?"  
  
"I don't think he likes flying," Smells Wrong replied. "But I don't think he'll try to bite me again."  
  
Yappy scratched that perfect spot between his ears; the spot that even Pack Leader couldn't always find but she could. It was the reason he put up with her even though he'd never cared for the more terrier-like humans as a rule.  
  
"Aww, poor Ace," she crooned. "Did that nasty Superman hurt your mouth?"  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"It's your own fault for being invulnerable," Not Evil said unsympathetically. "Look, Bruce'll be here any second, but Barbara's keeping the doctor busy. At least we hope she is. We should have at least ten minutes."  
  
Yappy stopped scratching and Ace lost interest in her. What had his attention now was a familiar scent- one he hadn't smelled in far too long.  
  
The Pup? He's here? Why didn't they just tell me that's what this was all about? Humans- all that noise they make and they can't be bothered to tell you the important things.  
  
He made his way toward the bed. He knew better than to climb on the bed, but Pack Leader pretended not to notice when he got on most of the chairs. Therefore, chairs were fair game and might help him get a good look at The Pup. He could smell the sharp scent that meant healing injuries but he still wanted to see. A short leap and he was in position.   
  
Son of a cat!  
  
The Pup's mane was almost gone. His skin was all blotchy. And tubes sticking into someone was never a good sign. Ace whined. He'd known The Pup was hurt, but this was something else again. He leaned over, sticking his nose into The Pup's cheek as gently as he could. Nothing.  
  
"Not yet, boy," Pack Leader rumbled from behind him. "He'll be back, though. We just have to wait a while longer."  
  
I hate waiting. Cats wait. I want to bite something. I want him back. He's annoying, but he's Pack. And he knows where to get those little crackers I like. And... he makes you happy when he's around. And who's the stork?  
  
Alpha Female stood in the door, smelling of apologies. Next to her stood a man who smelled of doctor- the stork. He was staring at Ace with one of those unreadable human expressions. Almost everybody else in the room was easier to read, even without the scents to give them away- Yappy, Not Evil, and Smells Wrong looked as guilty as they smelled. Only Pack Leader kept his composure, but Ace knew he was embarrassed. Pack Leader hated being caught doing anything sentimental. Doctor Stork (as he promptly named the new man) suddenly smelled amused.  
  
"Wasn't there, couldn't have stopped them," was all he said as he turned and walked away. The Pack breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Now there's a doctor I could almost like.  
  
Ace wagged his tail and got back to the serious business of visiting an injured friend.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Still continuing... 


	12. Growing Awareness

Okay, identification time again. Ace, as you all noticed, has his own names for people. These are the ones he used, with the human names afterward and some explanation when necessary.  
  
Pack Leader- Bruce.  
  
The Pup- Terry  
  
Alpha Female- Barbara. Because she is one.  
  
Yappy- Max. Do I really need to explain why? Didn't think so.  
  
Smells Wrong- Superman. he looks human, but doesn't smell human (being an alien and all, y'know).  
  
Not Evil- Tim. I can understand why some people might have been confused by this one. The first time Ace met Tim was when the Joker (Laughing Evil) attacked Wayne Manor. The next time was when Terry went to Jolly Jack and brought Ace along as backup. The third time they met would have been... interesting. (This will be discussed at a later point in the story) Ace would have had to constantly remind himself that Tim was a friend; eventually the reminder "He's not evil" became "He's Not Evil". Hence the name.  
  
Now, on with the show...  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Tim sat in the chair and took Terry's hand. Before he spoke he looked down at the young man he'd almost come to think of as a much younger brother. Over the past few weeks the swelling had disappeared and the bruises were almost gone as well. His hair was a a dark fuzz covering his scalp, long enough now to look like a crew cut. Tim grinned to think of how Terry would react to his hair being gone; he wasn't vain by any stretch of the imagination, but there were limits.   
  
Actually, Tim had been surprised at how little Terry thought of his own looks. Not that he considered himself unattractive, he just didn't think much about them. His face was what it was, and that was that. Tim, on learning this, had teased him about being a freak of nature- no teenage boy was that uncaring about appearances. Terry had just laughed and agreed, saying he'd gotten enough hangups that he'd had to get rid of that one to make space for the new ones.  
  
"And you do have your hangups, just like the rest of us, don't you?" Tim said with a small sigh. Then he grinned. "I still can't believe the guy who faced The Joker without flinching freaks out over a little spider. Anyway, I'm here to give you the latest update. Josie- you remember her, I hope- my youngest? Well, she just got a role in "The Grand Duke". She's really thrilled about it. Personally, I think that stuff's kinda boring. Bruce never could teach me to appreciate opera, though I like Gilbert & Sullivan better than Wagner. At least with them you can understand what the soprano's screeching about. But Josie's playing the Baroness, which she says is a good role. I'm taking her word for it and I guess I'll see when the show opens. Lina, my oldest, the one you haven't met, she's just started dating a guy she met in Edinburgh. Get this- he's the grandson of the Earl of Glencairn. Pretty good for a girl whose father used to be a street rat, isn't it? She says it's not a big deal, but still, an Earl, y'know? And I never knew who my grandfather was- either of 'em."  
  
Tim chuckled. "Besides, it's always good to know as much as you can about who your kids are dating. You'll find that out for yourself someday. And I'm not as bad as Bruce- any girl who flirted with Dick got investigated more thoroughly than some of the crooks they fought. Seriously. Drove Dick nuts when he found out. He said it was just more of Bruce's efforts to control his life. It wasn't, though. Like Bruce himself said, if he'd been trying to control Dick's life that way, Dick wouldn't have been allowed to date half the girls he'd dated. He'll never admit it, but he was trying to make sure they were good enough for his son. He investigated my wife too, but he thinks I don't know. She was flattered when she found out, can you believe it? I hope you don't think you'll ever be old enough to understand women, McGinnis, because I can tell you it won't happen if you get as old as Ra's al Ghul."  
  
Suddenly he heard a loud splat behind him, as though someone had hit the window with a water balloon. He turned to see a huge blob of black liquid seeping in around the edges of the window.  
  
Inque. It had to be. Now he just had to figure out why, and quickly.  
  
"Ohhhhhh.... stupid kid- what-?" Inque reformed, looking around quickly. She assessed Tim, obviously dismissing him as a threat with insulting speed. Her glance at Terry became a double-take. "I've seen him before. Cute kid- pity about the hair- oh, not you again!"  
  
"Get out of here, you- Terry!"  
  
Tim stared at the girl who'd just opened the window from the outside. Ten. Formerly of the Royal Flush Gang. Terry's ex-girlfriend. This was about to get ugly, he couldn't reach the call button to summon security, and he didn't think he was up to handling this on his own.  
  
"Listen, little girl, I wouldn't even be here if you hadn't zapped me with Mommy's magic wand. Does she know you're playing with it?"  
  
"I wouldn't have zapped you if you hadn't been trying to break into Delogu! Just because Batman's taken a vacation doesn't mean you can just come in to town and do whatever you want!"  
  
"Oh, you think you're Batgirl now, do you? Honey, you're a thief just like me, so get over yourself."  
  
"I'll never be like you no matter how old I get!"  
  
Tim edged a little closer to Terry, wisely deciding to stay out of it. Inque was speechless, but Tim could almost hear her temper rising.  
  
"Did you just call me old?"  
  
"Well, I'm not the one with a grown-up daughter who scammed me out of all my money."  
  
"No, you're just the one who threw away a lucrative career for a boy who-" Inque broke off, her blob of a head swivelling around to look at Terry again. Tim mentally reviewed every curse he knew, inventing new ones when he ran out. Inque laughed snidely. "So that's what this is really about! You wanted an excuse to see the boy, so you chased me in here! That's so sweet..."  
  
"I did not!"  
  
"And here I thought the whole star-crossed lovers thing never happened any more."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"You know, you could have just asked me to help. He is a looker, isn't he? So tell me, was he really that good?"  
  
"Slimy tramp."  
  
"Dippy tart."  
  
"Ladies." The new voice was heavy with disapproval. Tim, resigned, looked back to the window to see Stalker glaring at Ten and Inque. Inque muttered something that Tim suspected he was just as happy not hearing.  
  
"This is a hospital," Stalker continued, "and not a hunting ground. You will leave. Now."  
  
Ten started to say something, then stopped. Stalker turned his gaze on her for a moment, then nodded.  
  
"I will not allow further harm to come to the boy. We have future business, he and I, and I will see that day come no matter what it takes."  
  
Her mouth opened and closed again with an audible gulping sound. After a few more seconds spent staring at Stalker, she fled. Stalker then turned his glare on Inque, who withstood it a bit longer. But not by much.  
  
"Oh, all right," she finally huffed, leaping for the window. Reaching it, she turned to deliver one last shot. "By the way, would you drop the accent, Nigel? We both know you're from Cleveland."  
  
She vanished. Stalker blinked, darting a look at Tim from the corner of his eyes. Turning to face Tim, he shrugged.  
  
"Women."  
  
"I hear you."  
  
And Stalker vanished as well. Tim sat back down at Terry's side.  
  
"I'm not even going to try to explain that one to Bruce," he said.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Charlie Bigelow smiled as he looked as the reports from his men. Business was up, and he knew why. It had been almost three weeks since the last Bat sighting. Every day that passed without a sighting was a day his men became that much braver. He'd expected the new slappers distribution ring to be busted inside a week, but it was actually getting better organized instead. Extortion was only slowly becoming more lucrative, but he knew it would take them longer than a few weeks to forget the Bat so he didn't waste time worrying about it. His men had carried out several succesful hits in a row, his gun-running operation was taking off, and without the Jokerz hassling his girls prostitution was really raking it in. Life was good.  
  
"Hey, boss, mind if I ask you something?"  
  
'What is it, Spike?"  
  
His lieutenant, a burly wolf-Splicer, sat in one of the more comfortable chairs. Charlie was careful to let some of Major's best people act casual in his presence. It made them think he trusted them, which made them more likely to say things they might not want him to hear otherwise. Only Spike had been smart enough to see what Charlie was up to. He'd also figured out how Charlie had gotten to be in charge of Major's operation while Major was in jail. He'd let Charlie know that he knew, and that he approved. He'd said that if Major was dumb enough to get taken in like that, then he didn't deserve to be in charge. Spike had thrown in his lot with Charlie, and he'd been rewarded for it. He'd even trusted Charlie with the secret of his real name; Charlie had been stunned to learn that there really were parents that would do that to a kid. Ordinarily a litle thing like that wouldn't have been enough to gain Charlie "Big Time" Bigelow's trust, but when someone trusted you enough to admit that their parents had named them Spike Angel MacCarthy- and could prove it- well, that was different.  
  
"It's two questions, actually. First is- what do you think's happened to Batman?"  
  
"Don't know, don't care. He's gone and that's all that matters."  
  
"Not if he's gonna come back."  
  
"...You hadda say that, didn't you?"  
  
Spike stretched. "Gotta make sure we're ready for anything, right?"  
  
"Right. Okay, I'll start working on a plan for what to do if he comes back. What's the second question?"  
  
"McGinnis."  
  
Charlie scowled.  
  
"He was a friend, right? So how come you ain't been out there bashin' Jokerz like everyone else?"  
  
"Tiny was never my friend. He just wanted to be close to someone with power. Soon as he got cozy with Wayne he didn't need me anymore. Way I see it, the Jokerz did me a favor. I'd probably have had to kill him some day anyway."  
  
"Yeah, but he's still alive."  
  
"Big deal. I checked with one of the doctors- if he ever wakes up, he won't be able to walk. I'm not gonna waste time with a cripple."  
  
"You got to one of his doctors?"  
  
"Yeah. She's a real piece of work- don't care about anything but her bank account. I'm thinking of asking her to come be our private doctor."  
  
"What if she's wrong?"  
  
"Then I'll just kill him later. I'm not goin' anywhere."  
  
Spike nodded. Question answered, problem solved. Business as usual could continue.  
  
***************************************************  
  
"-and he just looked up at me and said, 'I didn't know you could even do that with a teapot'. He never realised it was pure luck. I certainly wasn't going to tell him." Bruce gave a half-smile, remembering the Mad Hatter's expression on that particular capture. "That's something you should remember- always make them think you'd planned every aspect of their capture. After a while they start capturing themselves half the time. Of course, the other half does get that much harder, so it balances out."  
  
Bruce checked his watch.  
  
"I have to go now, Terry. A meeting. That's one of the things I didn't miss when I lost the company. But I'll be back later tonight. Maybe I'll even tell you how the Riddler ended up married to Veronica Vreeland by accident."  
  
He reached for his cane, but froze with that hand in the air. It was his other hand- the one holding Terry's- that had his attention. Had he just imagined-?  
  
"Terry- do that again!"  
  
Nothing. Or maybe...  
  
"Terry, please. Do it again."  
  
This time there was no mistake. He saw Terry's hand move slightly, felt the barest increase of pressure on his own hand. Terry was waking up.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
Dramatic plot twist! ...or not. What, you didn't think I was going to leave him like that forever, did you? 


	13. Awakenings

*******************************************************  
  
Celia Moncreiffe looked at her watch for the fifth time in two minutes. The woman speaking was the type who thought that being a VP meant being to important to bother being polite to a mere executive assistant, even if that EA was Bruce Wayne's. Lina Tarbox was a holdover from the bad old days of Derek and Paxton Powers and didn't seem to realise that the sort of business practices that had been almost company policy under those two wouldn't be tolerated by Wayne. Hence her temper tantrum; some of her pet projects had been shut down by Wayne and she wanted an explanation. Celia knew that any number of projects were about to be shut down, projects like Ms. Tarbox's, but she wasn't saying a word. Ms. Tarbox would find out soon enough- that was what the meeting was about.  
  
Celia was a bit surprised that Mr. Wayne wasn't there yet. Granted, these days he always spent lunch at the hospital visiting the McGinnis boy, and the meeting was scheduled for the time he usually returned, but she thought that under the circumstances he would have left a few minutes early. She knew he disliked people being late to meetings, so it was odd that he'd do it himself- especially to a meeting he'd called. Almost everyone else had arrived, since the meeting was due to start in ten minutes.  
  
She set her face in polite listening mode and started trying to review her grocery list. She was on her third repetition of "chocolate"- she always added an extra thing of chocolate when one of the VP's said something particularly pointy-haired- when her phone rang. Ms. Tarbox glared at her, making a comment that Celia didn't hear and didn't want to. She merely said a pointed hello to Mr. Wayne, who was the caller. Listening to his news and instructions, she had a very hard time keeping a professional demeanor. When he finished, she calmly put her phone away, then stood and addressed the assembled VPs.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid today's meeting is postponed until tomorrow at three. Terry McGinnis seems to be waking up-" a murmur ran around the room- "-and since it was Mr. Wayne to whom he first responded, the doctors think it would be beneficial for Mr. Wayne to stay until they could be sure of the extent of his recovery."  
  
"Oh, for God's sake!" Ms. Tarbox snapped. "You mean we have to put our work on hold again? Doesn't he realise we have more important things to do than wait around for some kid who-"  
  
"Shut up, Lina," a man said quietly. Kenji Donleavy, the VP in charge of Marketing, glared at her. "We all know your opinion of Terry, and let me tell you, it's gotten old. I'm not a big fan of the kid myself, but I think it speaks very highly of Mr. Wayne that he'd go to so much trouble for an employee. And it won't kill any of us to wait one more day."  
  
"Well, I think it's good news," Bill Gustafsen retorted. "He's a good kid and I'm glad he's getting better. And you probably better get used to the idea of him being around again, because as soon as he's declared safe to work you better believe he'll be back."  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Ms. Tarbox smirked. "Sounds like a good time to ease him out the door. Mr. Wayne must have realised by now that he can get along without that dreg; he can just put the kid on disability and not have to bother with him again. Unless he has... other reasons for wanting him up and around."  
  
It was pure coincidence that the coffeepot slipped out of Celia's hand at that moment, shattering on the table and splashing Ms. Tarbox's new cream wool suit. At least, that what she claimed every time someone asked her about it.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Across Gotham, Dana Tan's Introductory Psych class was disrupted by a shriek. Max, who had been called to watch Matt when Mary had gotten the call from the hospital, had hacked into Dana's computer and sent her the message as a pop-up. Dana spent the next ten minutes apologizing and explaining, and the rest of the class flushing every time someone looked at her.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Mad Stan dropped the Joker he'd been pummeling. He didn't normally carry a phone around- the goverment could trace him too easily that way- but for the past few days he'd made an exception. He was waiting for a particular call.  
  
"Oh, hi, honey. -No, nothing really important. So why'd you call?"  
  
A Joker took a swing at him; he ducked easily and swung back. The Joker went down with a bloody nose.  
  
"Really? Oh, Hon, that's great! Is he- oh, not yet? But sometime today? Well, you be sure to call as soon as you know anything for sure, okay? -Okay. Bye, Hon."  
  
He put his phone away, then turned to face the Jokerz. There were four still standing and they decided to rush him. With a whoop of feral joy, he dove into them. His Mary's son was getting better, which called for a celebration, and what better way to celebrate than beating the snot out of a bunch of Jokerz? Life was good.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Bruce had become very skilled at not reacting to Mary's relationship with a man who had tried to blow up most of Gotham at one point or another. Still, hearing Mad Stan being called "Sweetie" was amusing in a disturbing way.  
  
They sat on either side of Terry, each holding a hand. Mary held the boy's hand as gingerly as Bruce has the first time; his hand was almost healed, but she didn't want to take any chances. Around them, a handful of doctors and nurses were watching the monitors, watching Terry, watching each other...  
  
"Now, we can't be sure of how long he'll be awake for this first time," Dr. Tikkainen was saying. "He may just wake up for a few seconds, or he may wake up for several hours. A few seconds is more likely, but much longer periods aren't unheard of. You're probably sick of hearing this, but please remember he's recuperating from a brain injury as well as the rest of it. Try to keep any conversations calm and non-stressful. Of course, we don't know what he'd consider stressful at this point, but I still have to say that. And there will be some side-effects, but by now you probably know them better than me."  
  
"Probably," Mary smiled tremulously. "Altered personality, various degrees of amnesia, seizures, short- and long-term memory problems... Yes, I think I've got a pretty clear idea."  
  
"Not all of them together, I should imagine. And he could make an almost complete recovery. I'd say a complete recovery, but the odds are that he'll always be missing the stretch of time around when he... acquired the injury. Maybe only a few hours, but he could lose up to a week beforehand."   
  
Dr. Tikkainen looked like he was about to say more, but instead broke off and looked sharply at Terry. All eyes followed his; sure enough, there was a faint twitching of Terry's eyelashes. It became more pronounced as they watched. The only sound in the room now was the quiet hums and beeps of the monitors. Even the doctors were holding their breath- they'd all seen enough unhappy endings to know how easily this could have gone wrong. The fact that it hadn't- yet- was giving them a great deal of satisfaction, if not outright glee.  
  
Terry's eyes fluttered open. Everyone in the room seemed to start breathing again, all at once. A distant part of Bruce's mind noted that in other circumstances Terry would have laughed himself sick over that. Dr. Tikkainen leaned over Terry, being careful to talk very clearly, but not loudly.  
  
"Terry, I'm a doctor. I need to check the reaction of your eyes. I'm not going to hurt you- although having a bright light in your eyes probably isn't your idea of fun. Right, good reactions, don't see any problems there.. and I'm done."  
  
Terry blinked, a faintly confused expression on his face. He tried to move, obviously noticed that it was a bad idea, then looked around the room. Bruce frowned, noticing that Terry's eyes passed over both his mother and Bruce with no more interest than he gave the doctors. Terry blinked again, licked his lips, and spoke.  
  
"Hospital," he said softly, but with certainty.  
  
"Yes, you're in a hospital," Dr. Tikkainen said. "You've been rather badly injured, I'm afraid, but you're well on the road to recovery already."  
  
Terry's lips twitched faintly upward in an eerie replica of Bruce's own smile.  
  
"Good. What... happened?"  
  
There was a momentary silence. Bruce broke it.  
  
"That's not important right now."  
  
Terry looked over at him. Bruce could see wheels turning, could see Terry struggling to bring his brain back on-line.  
  
"All...right. Must have... been... hellofa...fight."  
  
Mary made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.  
  
"Oh, Terry, you haven't changed a bit!"  
  
Bruce caught a flicker in Terry's eyes. Something was wrong.  
  
"That a... good thing?"  
  
"Well, I think so. But then, I'm your mother, so I guess I have to think that, don't I?"  
  
There was that flicker again.  
  
"Guess so. Be awkward... if you didn't."  
  
The doctors were milling about, looking at the monitors again and trying to discreetly examine Terry. He looked at them evenly.  
  
"How bad?"  
  
Bruce, Mary, and Dr. Tikkainen exchanged a look. Terry frowned.  
  
"How. Bad. Is. It."  
  
Again it fell to Bruce to break the silence.  
  
"It could have been worse. You're alive and after physical therapy you'll be walking again. The prognosis for a full physical recovery is very good."  
  
Terry was quiet for a few minutes, thinking. Bruce had already noticed the question he hadn't asked; he wondered if Terry already had the answer.  
  
"Terry," he asked, "Do you know who I am?"  
  
Terry gave him another look, but not the one Bruce had been hoping for. Mary's breath caught, and the doctors paused as they waited for the answer.  
  
"My... grandfather?"  
  
Bruce closed his eyes, a cold feeling seeping into his bones. He could hear the doctors murmuring frantically amongst themselves and Mary's soft moan. Then he heard Terry's quiet remark.  
  
"Guess that wasn't... it, was it."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
And you thought you'd be getting a happy ending, didn't you? Told you this was going to be long... 


	14. Errors In Judgement

As always, *-* = thoughts.  
  
************************************************  
  
There was no celebration dinner this time.  
  
After a short but intense discussion with Dr. Tikkainen, Bruce and Mary had both gone home. Mary was trying to figure out how to tell Matt what had happened; Bruce was trying to figure out what he should do. He'd refused to make any decisions on Bat-oriented issues until he could see how Terry felt about the matter. It hadn't been easy to do, but he had forced himself to wait and see. Now he was wondering if he should have bothered even as he warned himself not to jump to conclusions yet. Terry had just woken up from a six-week coma, after all. Some disorientation was to be expected. It was possible that he'd wake up in the morning and remember everything. Or almost everything, anyway.  
  
Possible, but not likely.   
  
So, Terry had amnesia. Bruce knew from personal experience that it wasn't going to be easy for the boy. There were plenty of people who thought that amnesia was just something hack writers used for lack of a better plot and that it never occurred in Real Life. A lot of cops he'd known had thought of amnesia as another way of getting out of testifying and was caused by greed or cowardice conveniently 'erasing' the inconvenient memories. But this was the real thing. If this wasn't the result of having just woken up, Terry was in for weeks, maybe even months or years, of being haunted by fragments of memories, running into people he should know but doesn't, and night after night of interrupted sleep as the memories filtered back through his dreams. It could slow down his physical recovery considerably.  
  
Dr. Tikkainen had given them the standard amnesia speech- don't push him to remember, don't let him push himself, just let it all come back as it happens. If he asks a question, answer it honestly.  
  
But what if he asked the wrong person the question? Terry possessed some very dangerous information; if he asked his mother about some of his cases... Bruce winced. He'd been on the receiving end of a Mary-rant once, after Tim's first visit to Wayne Manor after the Joker's final death. Ace had attacked Tim- Bruce was still kicking himself for not foreseeing that- and Terry had intercepted the attack. That had landed him in the hospital too, but only the ER. It had taken fourteen stitches to fix the damage. Not until they reached Terry's house did Bruce realise that nobody had called Mary to tell her. The resulting explosion had been spectacular. Bruce had been impressed by Terry's quick thinking in explaining that Ace had tried to attack a man who wore the same after-shave as his former owner, reminding Mary that Ace had been badly abused as a pup. He'd used the same story at the hospital and used it again when Animal Control investigated. It had probably saved Ace's life, but it hadn't saved Bruce from the type of dressing-down he hadn't heard since he was younger than Terry. It was very easy to see where Terry had gotten his temper.  
  
But this wasn't solving the problem. In fact, he wasn't sure there was a solution. He could hardly watch the boy day and night to guard against any slips. He couldn't just assume that Terry wouldn't remember, either. And ordering him to not discuss any memories that came back until he'd cleared them with Bruce was right out.   
  
*-Or is it?*  
  
Bruce was disgusted with himself. The answer was so obvious- which was probably why he'd missed it. One of the reasons the media had been so rabid about the story was because Terry was Bruce Wayne's personal assistant. As such, he was exposed to the upper workings of Wayne Industries on a daily basis. Naturally, he'd come across some highly sensitive information. Telling Terry- and the doctors and Mary, of course- that there was a risk of corporate espionage would be enough to guarantee discretion. Assuming, of course, that Terry's personality hadn't been drastically altered; that had been known to happen after brain injuries.  
  
The story even had the benefit of being true. Terry had been approached more than once with bribes and even threats to get him to divulge inside information. The bribes had been laughed at, as well as some of the threats. On one memorable occasion Terry had needed to break the man's nose; the man just couldn't seem to understand that Terry wasn't intimidated. On another, Terry had allowed himself to be kidnapped because he was afraid that the incompetent kidnapper was going to hurt himself. Bruce, remembering Sid the Squid, hadn't been able to get too angry.   
  
So he had a plan. Not much of one, but better than nothing. Now all he had to do was figure out what to tell Terry if and when he asked about Batman.  
  
It was going to be a long night.  
  
************************************************  
  
Mary sighed as she turned off Matt's light. His ideas of amnesia were based on Saturday morning cartoons and he had been disappointed to learn that another blow to the head wouldn't bring Terry's memories back. He'd gotten quiet after that and gone into his room. When she'd gone to check on him, she'd found him asleep amidst a pile of old pictures. Two piles, actually; he'd dug up an old file folder and carefully labelled it "Terry's Memory- Visual Aides". Some of the pictures they knew Terry had liked were in there, as well as at least one picture of almost every member of the family. She'd noticed one omission that seemed intentional and approved. There were a few things it would be better if he never remembered and [I]That Woman[/I] was one of them.  
  
She'd picked Matt up, sighing as she noticed how heavy he was getting, and put him to bed. At least she could do that for one of her boys.  
  
Mary sat at the kitchen table, cradling her mug of tea in her hands. Stan had wanted to come over, but had been very understanding when she'd said she needed to be alone for a while. Max had also been tactful, disappearing after Mary had told her what had happened. The girl had probably gone to tell Dana and anyone else who crossed her path. Mary didn't mind; it just meant fewer people she'd need to explain to.  
  
She couldn't help worrying about what this would mean for Gotham. It was bad enough on a personal level, but ever since she'd accepted the fact that her son put himself in the line of fire every night she'd also accepted the fact that the city really did need him. With him out of commission, things could get as ugly as they had been a few years ago. Worse, because even if the Jokerz did get wiped out, they now had splicers, Big Time, Spellbinder, Shriek, and so many others that she couldn't think of at the moment.   
  
Suddenly she wished that she'd told Mr. Wayne that she knew. The poor man had looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders as he left the hospital. It had to be as hard on him as it was on her; after all, although he'd never admit it, he'd practically adopted Terry as another son. And Terry was the one carrying on his legacy. Maybe it wasn't fair to let him carry all that on his own when he didn't have to. But... telling him without discussing it with Terry first felt like a betrayal and Terry had had enough of those already, even if he didn't remember them. Even if he didn't know about all of them.  
  
Also, she worried about what would happen if Terry remembered some of his adventures as Batman without realizing what they were. There had to be a way to convince him to talk things over with either her or Mr. Wayne first, but it had to be something that would seem natural. She didn't want Terry worrying like she and Mr. Wayne were doing. Maybe she could say that he knew company secrets... She smiled. That would be perfect. Unless Terry had woken up with a huge personality switch, if he was told that he had to keep some things secret, he would.   
  
Mary took a sip of her tea, then grimaced. It was luke-warm.   
  
*Next time, less fretting, more drinking. ...Hmmm.... I wonder if I could design a better wheelchair for Terry?*  
  
**********************************************  
  
Max sat in the police car, feeling like five different kinds of idiot but also strangely proud. She'd just taken out three Jokerz. Okay, so one of them had accidentally knocked out his friend when Max had ducked at just the right moment, but she counted that as just good planning on her part.   
  
What she hadn't counted on was the cops showing up and arresting her for disturbing the peace.  
  
She hadn't meant to get into a fight. She'd left Chelsea's place meaning to go work off her frustration by kicking some major butt at the arcade. Instead, she'd turned a corner and come face-to-face with those three dregs. When she saw them, the last month and a half had come crashing down on her- especially the last few hours. Seeing Mary's haunted face when she returned from the hospital, hearing that Terry's problems really weren't over yet, having to be the one to tell Dana and Chelsea and mop up their tears... She'd just exploded.  
  
But she'd won. So what if she'd been arrested? She'd just call her sister and-  
  
*Uhoh.*  
  
Her sister was out of town until next week. And she knew that the Old Man had flagged certain names to sound an alert on the Batcomputer if they showed up on the police scanner. Terry had hinted that the Commish had done something similar for her personal computer.  
  
Which meant that in a few minutes, two of the scariest people in Gotham would know she'd been arrested, and for what.  
  
*I. Am. So. Dead.*  
  
*************************************************  
  
Same Bat time, same Bat channel! 


	15. Max, CJ, and the Dark Knight Death Glare

*************************************************  
  
Bruce sat in the Bat-cave, continuing his brooding. He was wondering if he should shut it down- just temporarily, of course. After all, even the most optimistic prognosis meant that it would be months before Terry would be able to return to work. It would be more sensible to shut it down. On the other hand, shutting it down just felt wrong. It was as if he were saying that Terry would never return. Not to mention the fact that getting everything up and running after a long period of down-time was a royal pain.  
  
An alarm sounded on the computer, disrupting his train of thought. He glanced at the pop-up, knowing there would be nothing he could do about it. Then he read it again. And a third time.  
  
Seconds later, the cave was empty. The computer still glowed, but nobody was reading the pop-up anymore.  
  
#Max Gibson- arrested for disturbing the peace and indecent exposure. 17th Precinct.#  
  
************************************************  
  
Barbara was pacing in her office. She'd gotten the news that McGinnis was waking up, but hadn't heard anything since. Bruce was still uncommunicative, even if he was trying harder, so his silence wasn't worrying. What did worry her was that Mary hadn't called. Mary liked to talk, and the two women had struck up something that wasn't quite a friendship but was close to it. Every time there had been news, Mary had called. Until now.  
  
Her computer pinged at her, drawing her back to work. Unlike Bruce, she only took one look at it before barrelling out the door.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Max sat in the holding cell, hoping Dana or Chelsea got there before it was too late. She had already reversed her position on praying- generally she had no use for religion- and was in the process of trying to plea-bargain any and all gods that might be listening.  
  
Her cell-mate was sitting looking insufferably pleased with herself. CJ had been arrested for the same thing as Max, but was confident of getting out quickly since she had been the attacked rather than the attacker. She had only been brought in because the only witness had passed out and they had to wait until he came to in order to prove her story. Max couldn't believe that the woman had taken out one more of the dregs than she had; CJ just didn't look the type. In fact, she looked like a hippie- old-fashioned blue jeans, blue-grey sweatshirt, hiking shoes, a waist-length braid... She looked like she should be on a farm in New England instead of a Gotham jail cell. But here she was, leaning against the wall and whistling.  
  
"How can you be so cheerful?" Max finally blurted.  
  
"Well, I've never been in a real fight before. I always kinda thought I'd freak out, y'know? So finding out that I can actually- well- prod buttock, anyway, that's a happy all it's own. And besides, I helped get a few Jokerz off the streets for a while. So did you. Maybe we didn't choose the most legal way of doing it, but they had it coming. Even back home we used to hear about what these smegheads got up to and I always wondered why nobody but Batman ever did anything about them. Then I got here and heard about that kid who made a habit of trying to take them down and got half-killed because of it and I guess it was the last straw. A lot of people I've been talking to feel the same. They're not forming lynch-mobs, but they're not going to just sit back and let the Jokerz get away with their crap, either. But then, I guess I don't need to tell you that, do I?"  
  
Max almost smiled.  
  
"Guess not. But it's personal for me- that kid they half-killed is my best friend."  
  
"Ohmygoddess." CJ looked stricken, her blue-grey eyes radiating sympathy. "Oh, hon, I'm so sorry. Is he going to be okay?"  
  
"I hope so. He woke up today."  
  
CJ watched her, waiting for more. When it didn't come, she spoke.  
  
"I get the feeling that it was a case of 'modified rapture'."  
  
"He didn't recognize anybody." Max bit her lip, trying not to cry. CJ sat beside her and put her arm around Max's shoulders.  
  
"Oh, hon, that's awful. But hey, it's not like what you see in the vids, you know. He'll probably get most of it back eventually."  
  
"I know, it's just-"  
  
"It's just that it hurts now. And you're wondering if he'll ever be the guy you knew again even when he gets his memories back. I haven't been there myself, but I- well, I read a lot and I always wonder how I'd react in similar situations. But you never know until it happens, do you? No matter how much research you do, it just isn't the same as actually being there and living it."  
  
"No, it isn't." Max sighed. "When this first happened, I went into heavy research mode and read everything I could find. I really thought I had a handle on it. But then Mrs. McGinnis walked in the door and said he didn't have any memories of us at all and... And then I had to tell his girlfriend... and then I ran into the Jokerz..."  
  
"And then you went house." CJ smiled sadly. "I can't say as I blame you. When they tried to jump me, I thought about that kid in the hospital and wondered how I'd feel if it was my brother in there. I didn't exactly stay calm and rational myself. Of course, I was also carrying a Big Stick..."  
  
Max giggled, surprising herself.  
  
"A big stick?"  
  
"My walking stick. My knees give me trouble sometimes, especially when it's cold and damp and I've been doing a lot of walking, so I use a walking stick. And I can now say with some certainty that it makes a good quarterstaff. Maybe even a buck-and-a-quarter staff."  
  
Max laughed. CJ grinned and brought her arm back down.  
  
"That's better. Now, what had you so worried? -I mean, other than the obvious."  
  
"Well, it's just- when the Old Man finds out I've been arrested..." Max grimaced. CJ's eyes flashed and her chin snapped up. Now Max could see her taking on four Jokerz; now she looked like a fighter.  
  
"And just what would he do? Does he hit you? If he does-"  
  
"NO! No, Mr. Wayne wouldn't hit me. He just... glares."  
  
"He glares."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
CJ leaned back, the fire fading from her eyes.  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"You've never seen him glare."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"And if there is a god of any sort, my friends will be here to bail me out before he finds out I was even arrested."  
  
They exchanged a look.  
  
"I'm doomed."  
  
"You're doomed."  
  
Right on cue, the door opened. A policewoman stood in the door, trying not to grin.  
  
"Maxine Gibson and Chastity Carlisle?"  
  
CJ moaned as Max stifled a laugh.  
  
"There's a reason I go by CJ, you know."  
  
"Well, your bail has been paid by none other than Bruce Wayne, so let's get you two out of here."  
  
"Wait a minute," CJ squawked. "Whose bail did he pay?"  
  
"Both of yours."  
  
Max and CJ exchanged another Look.  
  
"Why?" they chorused.  
  
"Hey, I just work here."  
  
The two followed the officer. Now both were worried, and with good reason. The officer led them to a room and left them there to wait.  
  
"Am I going to be glared at too?" CJ asked, clearly bewildered.  
  
"Probably. No offense, but why would he pay your bail? You aren't some long-lost daughter come back to haunt him or something wierd like that, are you?"  
  
"Uh- no. Trust me, I know who my father was. And I look like a heavier female version of him. I've heard of Bruce Wayne, of course, but as far as I know I don't have any connections to him. ...Well, one, but I don't think he bailed me out because his father and my grandfather were frat buddies."  
  
"Probably not," Max agreed. Then- "Heavier?"  
  
CJ grinned.  
  
"Dad was about my height and weight. You want scary? My brother's six inches taller than me and weighs less than I do. I'm 5'7" and weigh 145. You do the math."  
  
"Whoa. That is scary." Max winced as they heard voices in the hall outside. "And that's even scarier."  
  
To Max's horror, both Bruce and Barbara entered the room. Both looked ready to explode. CJ gulped audibly, but didn't move from Max's side.  
  
"And just what the hell did you think you were doing?" Bruce seethed, ignoring CJ.  
  
"Uhhhh, well, I... kinda lost my temper."  
  
"You lost your temper."  
  
"Kinda like you're doing now," CJ piped up. Bruce switched his glare to her. "Shutting up now."  
  
"Didn't what happened to McGinnis teach you anything?" Barbara snarled. "If you hadn't gotten lucky you could have ended up in worse shape than him, even if they didn't kill you. Do I really have to tell you what they'd have done to a girl they caught?"  
  
"They didn't catch me!"  
  
"You were lucky." Bruce spoke this time. "Taking on the Jokerz- even if was only a few of them- was an incredibly stupid thing to do. They've got experience in fighting dirty; you don't."  
  
"And did you even once stop to think about how Terry would feel if something happened to you?" Barbara again. " Maybe he doesn't remember right now, but he will, and I'm not going to be the one to tell him his best friend got herself killed pulling idiotic stunts like this!"   
  
"But-"  
  
"Max, did you really start the fight?"  
  
"...Sort of."  
  
Bruce's glare kicked up a notch.  
  
"That was a yes or no question."  
  
"Okay, so I threw the first punch! But they said-"  
  
"Max."  
  
The single word, combined with what Max and Terry had secretly named the Dark Knight Death Glare, was enough to shut her up.  
  
"You've wondered why I never let you help Terry with his work? This is exactly the sort of thing that keeps you out of it. You were careless, impulsive, you didn't stop to think about the consequences of your actions- you just jumped into the situation with no plans or preparation. As Barbara said, you could have been badly injured, even killed. You don't have that kind of luxury. Right now there are people relying on you for information that Terry's mother wouldn't think to give them, and if something happens to you I highly doubt they'd come to me. You don't have the right to deprive them of that information."  
  
Max hung her head. Seeing that she had started thinking again, Bruce turned to CJ.  
  
"As for you, Miss Carlisle-"  
  
"They attacked me. What was I supposed to do? I'm not exactly the meek and mild type at the best of times, and I never let their kind just walk all over me!"  
  
"Maybe so, but the witness said you didn't call for help."  
  
"Well, first, he wouldn't have been any use, and second, I didn't want to waste my breath."  
  
Bruce continued glaring.  
  
"No, I mean literally. I've got asthma and I was trying to make sure I didn't have an attack at the worst possible moment. So why did you bail me out anyway?"  
  
The non-sequitur didn't phase Bruce in the least.  
  
"Your grandfather was a good man. So was your father. I couldn't help but recognise your name when I heard it."  
  
CJ blushed.  
  
"Yeah, well, it wasn't my idea. Any of it."  
  
Bruce glared for a second longer, then turned back to Max.  
  
"It will take some work, but we can keep this from going on your permanent record. But if it happens again..."  
  
"If it happens again, I'll lock you up myself," Barbara growled. "And I'll freeze up your computer so badly you won't even be able to hack into a Qwik-E-Mart."  
  
Max believed the second threat. Terry had hinted that the former Batgirl could hack rings around the Old Man, and still did on occasion, just to annoy him.  
  
"Okay, I get the message. It was a dumb thing to do. Believe me, I do know. It's just- I saw Mrs. McGinnis face when she got home, I was there when she tried explaining to Matt, and I was the one to tell Dana. It's been a pretty sucky night and I just... ah, slaggit."  
  
Barbara softened a bit and Bruce's glare eased a notch.  
  
"All right," Barbara said. "But I'm serious- don't let this happen again."  
  
"It won't. I promise."  
  
"And no putting yourself in situations where it would become a question of self-defense, either."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Now go home. Straight home. And stay out of trouble. Oh, and by the way, we cleared up the little misunderstanding with the indecent exposure charge." Barbara hid a grin at Max's outraged squawk and CJ's stifled giggle, continuing as though nothing had happened. "Computer error. Now go home.  
  
She opened the door. Max and CJ left quickly. As they left they heard Max say to CJ, "I thought you said it was your grandfather who knew his father."  
  
"That's what I thought- indecent exposure?" CJ's chuckle almost covered Max's moan as they passed out of earshot.  
  
"So, do you think Max will stay out of trouble?" Barbara asked.   
  
"For a few days. I should have realized she'd been too quiet lately. That girl has too much energy."  
  
"Remind of you of someone?"  
  
"You had an excuse. She just looks at this as a game. Even now, she just doesn't seem to realise that people get hurt doing this. I can understand why she did what she did tonight, but I can't let her keep acting the way she does. For Terry's sake, if nothing else."  
  
"Maybe we should get Foley back in town. Get those two working on a project and she won't have time to get in trouble."  
  
"Yes, but then we'd have Rich and Max in the same room."  
  
"...Nevermind. By the way, did you really know that woman's father and grandfather?"  
  
"Yes. They moved to Vermont and eventually we lost touch, but I do remember getting the birth announcement. It's not a name that's easy to forget. Chastity Joy Carlisle. Her mother always was a bit..." Bruce couldn't think of a word that truly described the woman.  
  
"Any woman who would name a kid Chastity Joy is definitely a bit... But is that really why you paid her bail?"  
  
"No. I wanted to make sure Max didn't mention anything she shouldn't. We both know these rooms aren't secure, but she might not think of that. Having an outsider around would keep her quiet. The connection just made a reasonable if slightly coincidental excuse."  
  
"Quiet being a relative term, I guess." Barbara's grin faded. "Bruce, how is Terry? I want a bit more than you had time to tell me."  
  
"It's not complete amnesia. He knew that his mother and I had some connection to him, he just didn't know what. He thought I was his grandfather."  
  
"Ouch. But understandable. You do know that half of Gotham thinks that's what you are, don't you? You don't want to know what the other half thinks."  
  
"I already do. There were the same rumors about me and Dick, and me and Tim, and even me and Alfred. It's annoying, but not worth responding to. At least the grandfather rumors are understandable; there are some vague similarities. But for God's sake, he's young enough to be my great-grandson! And even if I was that type, I'm not exactly much of a danger to anyone at my age."  
  
"Tell that to somebody who hasn't seen you fight in the last year. But I know what you mean. And you say Terry at least can recognise people who are important to him, even if he doesn't know why he knows them? That is a good sign, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes. I'd hoped for better."  
  
"Well, Tim will be happy to hear that he's awake at least. I have to admit, even with Foley's little machine, I was worried. McGinnis is a good kid; he deserves better than- well, it didn't happen, so I was worrying over nothing. So what are we going to do now?"  
  
"Wait."  
  
"I was hoping for better."  
  
**************************************************  
  
Standard continuation comment goes here. 


	16. Night Visits

One or two comments, then the story.  
  
StaplersBreak- Barbara was worried that Terry would never wake up, even though Richie's machine said he would.   
  
myrrdinowl- CJ will appear again, although only occasionally. She lives in Vermont and is visiting family in Gotham. I try to use CJ sparingly, because she's my self-insertion character and as such is used only when I want someone to say or do something that the established characters wouldn't, but I might. And CJ stands for different things in different stories, but is always something awful.  
  
girl-gambit- I'm sure Bruce will think of something to keep Max out of trouble...  
  
gip-k- Well, neither of them got seriously hurt, anyway. Believe me, they did feel it the next day. Some bruises, pulled muscles, that sort of thing. (Although CJ had enough sense to have a nice hot soak when she got back to where she was staying, so she was a bit better off than Max. It's what I'd do.)  
  
As always, *-* indicates thoughts.  
  
**************************************************   
  
*It's dark. Why- oh. Night. Guess I'm still scrambled.*  
  
Terry lifted a hand to turn on a light, then changed his mind. He didn't need it to just lie there and think, and that's what he wanted to do. Besides, if someone saw a light they might come in and do more tests. The last day and a half had been test after test after test; he was sick of it. Not that he'd said anything to the doctors and nurses. He knew they had to find out what needed fixing now that he was awake and could actually tell them where problems were. It was their job and it wouldn't be fair to them if he snarled at them for trying to help him get better. From the sound of it, he'd caused people enough trouble already.  
  
He looked over toward the pictures the little boy- *your brother Matt, twip!*- had brought in that day. He couldn't see them clearly in the light coming in through the window, but he could remember which pictures were where. That fact alone gave him a feeling of accomplishment; he might have misplaced the old memories, but the new ones seemed to be staying put.   
  
There were roughly half a dozen pictures- no studio shots, all obviously taken on the scene. His mother had said Matt had wanted to bring more but they'd decided they didn't want to overload his brain just yet. The closest one was a picture of Terry with a larger brown-haired man, and the two were grinning at each other. He knew the man was very important to him, but he couldn't think why. He wondered if the man was his father, then decided that he couldn't be. After all, Terry had blue eyes. His mother's were hazel and the man in the picture's were brown. He didn't think genetics were his strong suit, but he did know that blue eyes were a recessive trait. No, the brown-haired man couldn't be his father. An uncle, maybe? Whatever they were, Terry knew it was something he'd lost for good. His mother's face when he'd asked if he'd be seeing the man was enough to tell him that.  
  
The second picture was of Terry with a bunch of people his own age. Two of the girls in particular caught his eye: a pretty Asian girl and an attractive black girl with shocking pink hair. Those two were also important to him somehow. He wondered if maybe he was dating both of them; he hoped not. He didn't need to remember anything to know that something like that could get real messy real fast. Anyway, that just didn't feel right. He didn't think he was the kind of guy who'd pull that sort of stunt and he suspected the two girls wouldn't put up with it if he tried.  
  
The third picture was easy: himself, his mother, and Matt. He had a feeling they usually got along pretty well, and this picture was a prime example. Judging from the robe he was wearing in it, he must have just graduated and all three were looking proud and happy.   
  
The fourth was another group shot with his family, the brown-haired man, and another group of people. Terry hadn't had to look at it for more than a few seconds to know that these people were more relatives. There was a faint resemblence between Terry and the oldest man in the picture. Terry had asked his mother if that really was his grandfather and had been relieved to learn that this time he'd been right. He didn't think he'd ever live down thinking Mr. Wayne was his grandfather; Matt has teased him about it as soon as he was sure that Terry wasn't going to slip into a coma again if someone breathed wrong. He knew that the old man in the picture was gone, like the brown-haired man, but he also knew that he'd been particularly close to both of them.  
  
The fifth picture made him wonder. It was obviously another family shot, this time with people who resembled the brown-haired man. He considered the possibility that his mother had been married twice and that the brown-haired man was his stepfather, but it just didn't explain everything. Also, there was something cut off the side of the picture. Or maybe someone. He couldn't help noticing that his smile in that picture had looked a bit forced and that he'd been glancing off to the side with the trimmed-off bit.  
  
The last picture was also a Graduation shot, but this was of Mr. Wayne and himself. Mr. Wayne wasn't smiling- another feeling told Terry that seldom happened- but Terry somehow knew that the old man was as pleased and proud as Terry's family had been.  
  
Terry frowned. He couldn't figure Mr. Wayne out at all. The man was as important to him as any of the people in the pictures, he knew that if he knew anything. What he didn't know was why. His mother had said that Mr. Wayne was his boss. Mr. Wayne had confirmed that. But there had to be more to it than that- there just had to! If the Old Man was just his boss, why had he gone to so much trouble? Dr. Tikkainen and Ms. Maguire had told him that Mr. Wayne had scoured the city looking for him when he'd vanished and then arranged for the best people available to look after him. And the Old man- Terry wondered a bit at how easily the nickname sprang to mind- had come to his Graduation. That didn't sound like a normal employee/boss relationship. He'd tried to sound out Mr. Wayne on the subject and had gotten nowhere. The Old Man was good at stonewalling, he'd learned. *Relearned, I bet. Wonder how long that took me the first time? It's a safe bet he's not gonna tell me... Ah, slaggit, now what?*  
  
The door was opening slowly. Not wanting to deal with more tests, Terry closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. The person was trying to be quiet, but using a cane wasn't helping. Whoever it was thumped their way up to the chair and sat with a sigh.  
  
"Hiya, sweetie, it's me again. I hear you woke up, so I'm being quiet so I won't wake you up again. If you saw me here, you'd probably... not even know who I am, since we never actually met. Just want you to know that I'm getting the girls ready to watch things for you. They aren't bad girls- okay, maybe they are, but they got good hearts. I'm so glad they don't take after their grandpa..."  
  
The old woman kept whispering while Terry tried to figure out what was going on. What were "the girls" watching for him? Did he know them? Was this woman someone he should know about, even if he hadn't met her? Deciding he had to know, he opened his eyes.  
  
The little old woman jumped in her chair, stifling a shriek. She stared at him for a few moments, eyes wide, gasping in shock. Then she closed her mouth with a snap and glared at him.  
  
"You young scamp! Scaring an old lady half to death! You've been awake the whole time, haven't you?"  
  
She was still whispering, Terry noticed.  
  
"Yeah. Sorry. Who are you?"  
  
"Uhhhhh..." The old woman looked around frantically. "I'm, uh, a dream! Yeah, that's it. You're just dreaming. I'm not really here. Just a figment of your imagination."  
  
"Right." Terry was starting to enjoy this. The old woman was grinning at him expectantly, but the grin was starting to fade as she realised he wasn't buying it.  
  
"I'm kinda not supposed to be here."  
  
"Figured that. If you were, you'd have come during visitor's hours like everyone else."  
  
"I'm not gonna hurt you."  
  
"That's good to know."  
  
"I just wanted to make sure you were gonna be okay."  
  
"Why?"  
  
The old woman was quiet for a while, but this time Terry didn't think she was trying to come up with an excuse. It was more like the silence that kept falling every time he asked a question his mother and Mr. Wayne weren't sure how to answer.  
  
"Because, see, in a wierd way it's kinda my fault you're here. Mine and Mr. J's."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Those punks who hurt you- they're just a bunch of low-lifes who try to steal the thunder of some classic villains 'cause they got no originality. And I was one of those villains for a while."  
  
It was Terry's turn to gape. The old woman hadn't been bragging; if anything, she seemed ashamed of whatever part she'd played.   
  
"And that makes it your fault... how?" he finally managed to ask.  
  
"They'd never have existed if it wasn't for me and Mr. J," she sniffled.  
  
"Yeah, they would. Maybe my brain's still a bit messed up, but I think they'd probably have been dregs even if you hadn't been a bad guy. They'd just have found someone else's shtick to rip off. I'm not saying you should have done whatever you did, but you aren't responsible for other people being jerks. You didn't make them act like you and this Mr. J, did you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Whose idea was it to imitate you?"  
  
"Theirs." The old woman blew her nose. "Okay, sweetie, I get it. I used to be a psychiatrist, ya know- oh. Sorry."  
  
Terry grinned.  
  
"I have a feeling I'm going to have to get used to that. But anyway, it's nice of you to apologize, but it's really not your fault unless you could have stopped this and didn't."  
  
"I-" the old woman bit her lip. "I should've known about it. I could've stopped it if I'd known."  
  
"And if a frogs had wings it wouldn't bump its ass when it hopped." Terry blinked. *Wonder where that came from. Doesn't sound like the kind of thing I'd say- but then, I'm not the best judge of that at the moment, am I?* But it worked; the old woman giggled.  
  
"It's sweet of you to let me off the hook, but-"  
  
"You weren't on the hook in the first place. Haven't I been saying that?"  
  
"...Yeah. But I'm still apologizing."  
  
Terry stopped himself from rolling his eyes. *Geez, this old woman has some serious stubborn in her!*  
  
"Okay, okay, then I forgive you."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, really." *Which one of us is the adult here, anyway?*  
  
"Thanks, sweetie! Yer the best!" The old woman popped out of her chair and kissed him on the cheek. "Now don't tell anyone I was here, 'kay?"  
  
"Trust me." *What would I tell them that wouldn't make me sound nuts?*  
  
And the old woman slipped away, leaving Terry still wondering who she was.  
  
***********************************************  
  
"Ow! Zee- my hair!"  
  
It was only just above a whisper, but it woke Terry anyway. He cracked an eye open to see Dr. Tikkainen standing there for a second before disappearing. In his place stood a tall robot with a much smaller blond girl disentangling a strand of blonde hair from where it had caught in one of the robot's joints.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ro."  
  
"Hey, it happens- not your fault. Just don't move for a few seconds, willya?"  
  
"All right."  
  
A few seconds later the girl was free.  
  
"So why are we here?"  
  
"He is a friend of mine. This is why I've been trying to reach Gotham for the past month and a half."  
  
"I didn't know you had any friends before you met me." The girl sounded surprised, and possibly a bit miffed.  
  
"Only two, really. If it wasn't for them, you would never have met me. Or if you had, it would have gone much differently. They were the ones who taught me that I didn't need to destroy to keep my freedom."  
  
"Ohhhhh, I get it. Sounds like you got lucky running into them."  
  
"I did. And if either of them needs me, shouldn't I do what I can to help?"  
  
"Duh. Okay, so I was being a twip. But why didn't we wait until visiting hours?"  
  
"Because he is under very tight security and I could not be sure that I could get in without being discovered."  
  
That was news to Terry. Why would he be under guard if he'd just been jumped by a gang? What wasn't he being told this time?  
  
"Okay, I guess."  
  
"And... I have already taken too long to get here."  
  
"Again- not your fault. We tried to get here and things kept happening. We couldn't let that creep blow up the bridge, right?"  
  
Terry's eyes opened, but the two didn't seem to notice. Someone was blowing up a bridge? What the-?  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"And I guess we had to keep Bucky out of the hands of that freaky woman with the wierd voice. Did you understand half of what she was yakking about?"  
  
"Not really, no. She does seem to have an obsession with Batman, though."  
  
"She does?"  
  
"She called him The Detective, but that is who she was talking about."  
  
"No offense to the Bat, but he didn't strike me as that much of a detective. But then, he's probably not much older than me so I guess he'll learn."  
  
Terry felt oddly insulted, but couldn't think why.  
  
"I hope you're right, Ro," the robot said. "But Terry is awake and watching us, so perhaps it would be polite to talk to him now?"  
  
*Oops- busted.*  
  
The blonde girl- Ro- looked over at him sharply. Terry just looked back. Finally Ro grinned and came over to the bed.  
  
"Hi," she said. "We haven't met, but I'm a friend of Zeta's. You can call me Ro."  
  
"And I guess you can call me Terry," he responded while he tried desperately to remember being friends with a robot. The robot in question was examining the various charts and monitors.  
  
"You seem to be doing fairly well for someone with as many injuries as you recieved," it said after a while. Ro put a hand over her eyes and grimaced. "I'm sorry, was that something I shouldn't have said?"  
  
"I don't think it's usual hospital ettiquette," Terry responded, trying not to laugh. Any worries he might have had about the robot vanished; he suspected it meant well, with all that implied.  
  
"I don't have much experience with hospitals, I'm afraid."  
  
"That's a good thing, Zee." Ro sighed. "If you did, it would mean you'd have had to visit people in the hospital, and nobody ever goes to the hospital for a happy reason."  
  
"Aren't babies born in hospitals?"  
  
The look Ro gave Zeta said volumes about her opinions on that subject. This time Terry did laugh.  
  
"She's got a point-" he hesitated for the barest second, hoping he used the same name as Ro for the robot "-Zee. If I had a choice, I know I wouldn't be here."  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
Terry knew it wasn't just an idle comment.  
  
"Well, it's not exactly what I'd call comfortable. It doesn't hurt much, but if I move wrong, believe me, I know it."  
  
"And you really do not remember anything?"  
  
Ro gasped.   
  
"Ohmigod, you got amnesia? I didn't know that happened in real life- oops. Okay, now I'm being tactless."  
  
"It's okay. It takes getting used to. But, yeah, everything kinda... well, it's just not there. Except sometimes I get flashes of something, even if there isn't anything obvious to set it off. And if there is something to trigger a memory, it doesn't all come jumping into my skull; I just get bits and pieces so far. Like now- I get the feeling you used to look different?"  
  
"Yes. My original head had been damaged shortly before we first met and I was using a temporary replacement while I tried to locate the proper model. Do you remember anything else?"  
  
"...No. Believe me, I wish I did."  
  
"I wish you did too. And you will someday. According to my records, there is a very high percentage of-"  
  
"No statistics, Zee, please!" Ro cut him off with a grin. "Sorry, Terry, but here's one thing to remember- never let him get started on statistics. I learned that the hard way. But look, it's three in the morning and while Zee doesn't get tired, I do, and you probably do too. So we're gonna go away and let you sleep and come back at a more realistic time next time. Maybe you'll be able to tell me some of Zee's deep dark secrets then. Or at least some really embarrassing ones!"  
  
"Ro, I don't have any embarrassing secrets."  
  
"What about the time you got spray-painted neon-green by that performance artist?"  
  
Terry grinned; that was a mental image and a half. Zeta was silent for a few seconds.  
  
"That was hardly a secret, since it happened in front of hundreds of people."  
  
"If I don't know it, then it's a secret. Now come on and let Terry sleep."  
  
Ro stepped close to Zeta. Suddenly the two of them disappeared, replaced by a single image of Dr. Tikkainen. Terry blinked, then realised it had to be a hologram.  
  
"Goodbye, Terry. We will come back when we can." It even had Dr. Tikkainen's voice.  
  
"Seeya, Ter!" Ro's voice seemed to come from nowhere, which was a bit unnerving.  
  
"Bye, guys. Be careful out there."  
  
"Dr. Tikkainen" gave a cheery wave and left. Terry let his head fall back on the pillow, closing his eyes with a sigh.  
  
*Well, at least I learned something new today- I'm mixed up with some really wierd stuff. I wonder if I should mention this to Mr. Wayne? ...And I wonder why he was the first person I thought about telling...*  
  
*************************************************  
  
Yes, everyone is going to show up sooner or later. Why do you ask? 


	17. Thanksgiving Surprises

Okay, more responses to reviews...  
  
girl-gambit- Thanks for the nice words, but I didn't create the robot. That's Zeta, who first appeared on Batman Beyond before getting his own series. Ro is his sidekick and guide to passing for human. Technically, Zeta's called a synthoid, but the chapter is from Terry's point of view and since he'd only been awake for a day and a half, his mind wasn't back up to speed yet. His vocabulary was (and is) a bit scrambled. But only a bit- every now and then he'll use the wrong word for something, but not often enough for people to be worying about it.  
  
Sailor Earth- Virgil and Richie will be back, as will Dick. Just not immediately.  
  
myrddinowl- Actually security isn't that bad- the people sneaking in are pretty good at not getting caught unless the plot requires it.  
  
And now, on with the show...  
  
*************************************************************  
  
It was some of the trickiest planning Bruce had ever done. Circumventing hospital rules, arranging schedules, making sure everyone could fulfill their assigned duties, and all for what should have been a trivial reason: getting Terry a decent Thanksgiving dinner. Tim had mentioned in passing that nobody should have to eat hospital food for Thanksgiving and Mary had immediately decided that they were going to smuggle in what she called "real food". Bruce still wasn't sure how he'd ended up taking charge of it; he hadn't intended to have any part of it. Not that he didn't agree with them, but it was all just so... silly.   
  
*I suppose I just couldn't sit back and listen to Tim egging on Mary with her plans. She may be an excellent inventor, but she couldn't plan a pizza run.*  
  
Bruce almost smiled. Mary's plans for smuggling dinner in to Terry had been more suited to a James Bond movie than to real life. None of her ideas had stood a chance of working. His own plan wasn't exactly simple- there were too many people involved for simple to be an option- but it would work. And he'd checked with Dr. Tikkainen to make sure that Terry could eat a traditional dinner. The doctor had looked at him, said that Terry could probably stand having a small group in to visit, and asked him to save some dark meat and a slice of pumpkin pie. He'd finished by mentioning that Dr. Miller would be in Missouri that weekend. That had been all Mary had needed to hear to turn a simple food-smuggling operation into a full-blown Thanksgiving meal in Terry's room. Bruce hadn't been able to convince her that it was a bad idea, so he'd done the next best thing: made sure that it was an efficient bad idea. He'd made contingency plans for everything from Blight reappearing to Dr. Miller coming back early and had been mildly surprised to find out that planning for a holiday could be more difficult than solving one of the Riddler's puzzles. He'd said as much to Tim, who had shot back, "You're only learning this now?"  
  
But today was the day. Mary had been up bright and early to get the turkey started. Dalrymple, who had been invited as a matter of course, was bringing side dishes. Max, whose family was all doing their own thing, had been put in charge of desserts. Mad Stan, to Bruce's chagrin, had volunteered to bring drinks. And Bruce had been forbidden to do anything food-oriented by Mary, who had been instructed by Tim and Barbara. He'd been more amused than insulted, especially since he'd overheard some of the exaggerated stories they'd told her. Besides, he had more than enough to do just organizing the oncoming fiasco.  
  
*And now we'll see how much of a disaster this will be...*  
  
***********************************************  
  
"Carefully on tiptoe stealing,/ Breathing gently as we may..."  
  
Dalrymple sang softly as he crept through the hospital halls. Max shook her head.  
  
"Hey, I know that show- they got caught at the end of the song! How about something a bit less, I don't know, unlucky?"  
  
"A very salient point," Dalrymple conceded, then thought for a bit.  
  
"Gently, gently-/ Evidently,/ We are safe so far..."  
  
"Okay, okay, I give up!"  
  
The two laughed, then quieted down as they approached the security guards at the end of the hall where Terry's room was. One guard looked at them, sniffed, and stifled a grin.  
  
"I see nussink. I know nussink."  
  
"No kidding," the other guard responded. "Don't you think we ought to search their bags to make sure they haven't smuggled in anything improper?"  
  
"Yes," Dalrymple drawled, "after all, one should only smuggle in what is proper, no?"  
  
Max just reached into one of the containers and handed each guard a pumpkin tartlet. The guards grinned and held the doors for Max and Dalrymple; they were familiar enough with each other to know they could fool around a bit.  
  
On reaching Terry's room, they found that they were the last to arrive. Matt was chattering away to Terry; Mad Stan and Bruce were being careful about letting Mary find out how they felt about each other; Mary was arranging the table that had magically appeared in the room that morning; Terry was grinning at whatever Matt was telling him. The TV was on with the volume off, turned to the parades.  
  
Terry's bed had been angled so that he could eat a bit more easily. Max was glad to see that, if only because it almost made him look as though he was sitting up.  
  
"Hey, guys, join the party," he called on seeing them. "Don't tell me you brought more food!"  
  
"Well, we can always take it away," Max grinned.  
  
"No, that's okay, I'm sure we can fit it somewhere. So what did you bring?"  
  
"I brought mashed potatoes with just the slightest touch of garlic and rosemary, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, green beans almondine, cranberry-orange relish, mixed pickles, and a mixed-green salad. For the salad I have obtained multiple dressings as I did not know which people would prefer."  
  
Max blushed.  
  
"Um, I brought a bunch of things, too."  
  
"You cooked?" Matt stared at her.  
  
"Not exactly. But I've got pumpkin tartlets, bowknots- those are kinda like rolls, but they're tied in a knot- um, apple pie, and I know Ma-uh, Mr. Lebowski was in charge of drinks, but I got hold of a gallon of fresh-pressed cider- well, it was pressed yesterday morning, anyway- and I couldn't resist bringing it."  
  
"Fresh-pressed cider?" Mad Stan perked up. "Man, I haven't had that since I left home! I grew up on an organic orchard and I've really missed that stuff."  
  
Max blinked. She could see Bruce storing the information away, although she couldn't begin to guess how he could use a fondness for fresh-pressed cider to help catch Mad Stan later. She could also see him him adding up the list of desserts and comparing them with what he knew about her cooking abilities, which were on a par with his. They were obviously home-made, too. She started to get nervous; she just knew he was going to ask where they came from. She'd never admitted to Mary that she couldn't cook, Matt thought she could do practically everything, Terry couldn't remember the one time he'd let her cook for him (which she hoped he'd never remember), and Mad Stan didn't know her well enough. Dalrymple had been there when the food had arrived and had promised not to tell, but Bruce... just gave her a look that promised questions at a later date. Max relaxed. Granted, she knew the questioning wouldn't be fun, but he wasn't going to fly of the handle just because she'd told CJ of her problem and had been bailed out. Then again, telling Bruce that her friend from jail had donated food to the cause- *I'm a dead girl.*  
  
*************************************************  
  
Stalker watched the odd group through the window and toyed with idea of popping in. He wouldn't, of course, but the idea did hold a certain appeal. He couldn't believe that Mad Stan had the effrontery to join in the festivities; but then, a man with a name like Mad Stan couldn't be expected to act with common sense. Stalker didn't worry about it. The Elder Bat could handle the idiot if he got out of hand. And if he couldn't, Stalker would step in. The Bat was his prey. Therefore it was his responsibility to make sure his prey was healthy in time for the hunt. That was just How It Was Done.  
  
"Watching the boy again, Nigel? He's not exactly your type."  
  
"Hello, Melissa. The boy has showed promise as a hunter. Someday he may be good prey."  
  
Inque snorted.  
  
"I'd say he's already been prey. The coma's a bit of a tip-off."  
  
"Even a lion may be brought down by hyenas if there is a sufficient number of hyenas."  
  
"Whatever. Looks like a party. He's awake?"  
  
"Yes. You will not disturb them."  
  
"Why would I? It wasn't my idea the last time. The boy isn't an issue, so I have no reason to care about him."  
  
"Keep it that way."  
  
"Whatever," Inque repeated. She sat next to Stalker for a few minutes, watching the feast. "Is that Mad Stan? I'd heard he found a girlfriend, but..."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Inque started to laugh.  
  
"Oh, that's too good- Mad Stan's dating the mother of a kid who works for one of his worst enemies! And I thought little Miss Star-Crossed Lover was funny! No wonder the kid was in a coma- Bruce Wayne, you, Mad Stan, Blondie, Wheeler, Spellbinder, the Jokerz- he probably did it just to get some rest!"  
  
Stalker tried to glare, but the truth of Inque's statement combined with what he knew about The Bat got his lips twitching as he concentrated on not laughing himself.  
  
"But enough about the kid," Inque continued, swirling around Stalker. "It's a holiday today, and I know a very good way to celebrate. Interested?"  
  
Stalker hesitated. An evening with Inque was always interesting, but he had a responsibility to his prey. On the other hand, with The Elder Bat, Mad Stan, and that dog on hand, The Bat was certainly well-protected.  
  
"Melissa, you are a distraction."  
  
"Glad to know I haven't lost my touch."  
  
Stalker laughed softly and stood. Shaking himself free, he walked to the edge of the roof. He looked over his shoulder with a faint smile.  
  
"The usual rules- if you can catch me..."  
  
He leapt off. Inque shook her head but came after him, as he knew she would. She would never admit it, but she loved this part as much as he did, and almost as much as what came after.  
  
***********************************************  
  
Dana, against all her expectations, was enjoying herself hugely. Her Declaration of Independence has rocked her entire family, who was now trying to think of her as something other than Daddy's Little Girl. She herself was getting used to it, but then, she'd always knew she'd have to grow up someday. The rest of the family hadn't seemed to grasp that concept. Her father was furious, her mother was aghast, Aunt Lucy was livid, and her brother and sister were stunned. Her father's parents were outraged, being very traditionally minded. Her mother's parents, being more modern, were still surprised, but they at least approved of her display of backbone (as they put it). The others thought she was putting her boyfriend ahead of her family; a boyfriend that they disapproved of at best. Dana was surprised to find that she really didn't care, even though they were wrong. It wasn't about Terry; he was only the catalyst. She was just sick and tired of being the little princess, the fragile flower. She knew she was tougher than they wanted to believe and she was not going to live down to their expectations anymore. She'd already changed her major from the "safe" Teaching to what her family was whining about being a sure ticket to starving in a garret somewhere: Art History. She'd also signed up for classes in woodworking, pottery, and sculpture. And if they didn't work, she'd find something that did.  
  
"-And you really think this dreg is gong to support you when you run out of money? That boy is nothing but-"  
  
Dana tuned out again. Aunt Lucy had never even met Terry, so as far as Dana was concerned, she had no right to form an opinion at all, much less yammer on about it for fifteen minutes. Still, the fact that she had was kind of impressive. Boring to listen to, but impressive.  
  
"All right, Lucy, you can shut up now," her mother said, bringing Dana's attention back to the gathering. Then she shocked Dana by repeating what she had just been thinking. "You've never even met the boy, so you don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. As usual. I don't think he's the right boy for Dana, and I certainly don't think she should be choosing him over her family when she's still so young, but he's not that bad. He made a few mistakes when he was younger, but he's been trying to make up for them, and it hasn't been easy for him with people like you always trying to keep him down. But it's Thanksgiving. It's a holiday. We are having a family celebration and you will all stop harping on Dana and enjoy the food we've been working on all week. Keith, you will now say grace and you will not say a single word about Dana 'coming to her senses and leaving that lousy punk', as you so elegantly put it. And that goes for the rest of you as well. Anyone who doesn't like my rules is welcome to leave. Now."  
  
Everyone stared at Phoebe Tan. She wasn't given to making long speeches- Dana had always thought it was because her father did enough pontificating for the whole family- and nobody knew what to make of her outburst. After a few seconds Aunt Lucy stood, obviously preparing to leave in a huff. But the second shock of the day hit then.  
  
"Lucy Tan, you sit down right now," the elder Mrs. Tan snapped. "Phoebe is right. You have been very rude and you have no right to be angry that you have been called on it. You and Keith have acted abominably to a boy who has never done a thing to you."  
  
"I am ashamed of both of you," the elder Mr. Tan added. "Perhaps Dana has been actingly badly in defying her parents' wishes, but that is no excuse for your own actions. And you were wrong to send her out of town. Perhaps that would have worked if she were five, but she is eighteen and a young lady."  
  
Mrs. Kamelamela, Phoebe's mother, joined in.  
  
"Besides, you could hardly expect her to drop him now, when he's recovering from that attack. What kind of person would dump a boyfriend who's in the hospital?"  
  
"It's not like he'd remember her," Keith Tan muttered. His mother slapped him upside the head.  
  
"That makes it worse."  
  
"Can we please change the subject?" Dana's little sister Ellen was rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I mean, I'm sorry Terry's hurt even if I don't like him much 'cause he's always flaking on Dana, but why is everything revolving around him lately? It's Dana's business if she wants to waste time on him after he gets better, but yeah, dumping him now would be kinda tacky. I think anyone with half a brain would agree with that, so can we talk about something else now?"  
  
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, during which Dana realised she was going to have to revise some opinions of her own about her family. Finally, Mr. Kamelamela spoke.  
  
"So, how about them Red Sox?"  
  
"They suck," the whole family chorused, then laughed harder than the old family joke deserved. However, the tension had finally broken and they moved on to other, less controversial topics of conversation.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Terry was a bit tired, but he was enjoying himself. The food was better than anything he'd had in the hospital so far. He'd commented that it was the best meal he could remember, then had a cheap laugh at Max's expense as she choked on her drink. Mr. Lebowski and Matt had thought it was funny too, and Mr. Dalrymple had chuckled, but his mother had rolled her eyes and Mr. Wayne had given him an exasperated look.  
  
Suddenly Max choked a second time as something on the TV caught her eye. Matt turned to look, then gave a whoop.  
  
"Schway! Where's he been, anyway?"  
  
Terry turned up the volume with a familar feeling that he was missing something important. As the news continued, everyone was glued to the screen, stunned.  
  
"-And as you can see, the nearly month-long absence hasn't slowed down Gotham's favorite vigilante as he joins in Gotham's favorite new fad- bashing the Jokerz. Of course, since he did that before The Attack, I guess that makes him a trend-setter, right, Jane?"  
  
"That's right, John. Well, whatever kept him away, he's certainly back on form. And a very nice form it is..."  
  
*Something's wrong. Something is really, really wrong.*  
  
His mother looked shocked. Bruce was gaping; Terry hadn't thought anything could break his composure. Max was still spluttering, obviously wanting to say something that she thought she shouldn't. Mr. Dalrymple looked disturbed. Only Mr. Lebowski and Matt didn't look out of sorts. If anything, Matt was happy about the news. Mr. Lebowski just nodded, unsurprised.  
  
"I knew he'd be back. Whatever kept him away couldn't last forever. I don't like the guy much, but I've always admired his guts. Gotta respect a guy who's ready to lay it all on the line for what he believes, even if you don't agree with him."  
  
Mary shot Mr. Lebowski a grateful look; Bruce shot him a thoughtful one. Then Bruce turned his attention back to the TV, now showing the parades again.  
  
"Well," the Old Man said in a voice that sounded like imminent doom, "Isn't that interesting..."  
  
***********************************************  
  
This chapter written to the music of Great Big Sea, John Denver and The Muppets, Handel, and The Chieftains and guests. 


	18. Last Laugh

Before I let you guys read this, I feel I have to say something. I looked at the chapter I just posted for Divine Secrets, then I looked at this chapter. They're both a bit on the side of, oh, how should I put this... depressing, maybe? I just felt that I should point out that the two chapters were written nearly a year apart, and the fact that they have been posted at the same time is sheer coincidence. I promise, I'm not going all dark and angsty on you. And the similarities between the old Trout and the Sisterhood-verse version of Mary are not as great as they appear at first glance. I'm going to different places with them. Scout's honor. (Yes, I was a Girl Scout.)  
  
BTW, girl-gambit- don't worry about it. It took me years to see all of the episodes. I still haven't seen all the Zeta Project episodes. About half of what I write about those two is sheer guesswork on my part based on what I have seen.  
  
************************************************  
  
To say that Bruce was angry was a bit of an understatement. Furious was a better choice of words, or perhaps enraged. He'd spoken with Tim on the off chance that he'd been the fake Batman. He wasn't, of course, but unlikely wasn't impossible so Bruce had needed to check. Impossible would be Dick returning and putting on the suit; he wasn't going to waste a call on that. He knew Dick had been sneaking in to check on Terry, but he didn't think that concern went deep enough to pull a stunt like this. Clark had very quickly denied any involvement, and Bruce believed him. Max's reaction had been genuine, otherwise she'd have been his top suspect. And Barbara would never even consider such a thing. And the build was all wrong for Stalker, aside from this being completely out of character.  
  
He stormed down the steps of the cave, not very relieved to see the Batsuit where he'd left it. All that meant was that someone had created their own costume, someone who had no right to steal his work. Terry's work. The name he had worked so hard to establish and Terry had struggled to uphold. When he'd started all those years ago he'd never intended this to become a legacy but that was what it had become and he'd be damned if he'd allow someone to steal it. He dismissed the minor detail that Terry had started out by doing exactly that; Bruce had long ago come to the conclusion that Terry hadn't been left with too many options that night and suspected that if he'd been in Terry's position he'd probably have done the same thing. This was different. Nobody had come to him for help and been blown off. Someone had just decided that they could just take up the cowl and-  
  
"Bruce Robert Thomas Wayne!"  
  
His head snapped around as Barbara stormed down the steps just as he had a few minutes ago. She was every bit as angry as he was, but she had obviously decided who was to blame for the new Bat in town.  
  
"What the hell were you thinking?" she continued. "I can't believe you would be so callous- just replacing Terry like that!"  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"What's that poor kid going to think when- what?" She broke off, thrown by his quiet statement.  
  
"I was as- surprised- as you when I saw the news. And before you ask, I don't know who it is. Yet."  
  
Barbara glared at him a few minutes longer, then nodded. A few seconds after that, she smiled slightly.  
  
"I guess you trained me a bit too well- it never even occurred to me that someone would dress up in a Bat-costume without your permission."  
  
Bruce just raised an eyebrow at that, his own temper beginning to subside.  
  
"As I recall, that's practically a tradition."  
  
Barbara actually flushed slightly, looking uncomfortable.  
  
"But it's not going to happen this time," Bruce growled.  
  
"Planning on making someone's life miserable?"  
  
"For starters."  
  
"Good; you could use a hobby right now."  
  
This time it was Bruce glaring at Barbara.  
  
"This isn't a joking matter, Barbara. It isn't Halloween now; if someone is dressing up like Batman they probably intend to keep doing it. And if they think they can get away with it, they must have a good reason why."  
  
"A reason like knowing that the people who should be in that suit can't do it right now," Barbara said, sobering.  
  
"Possibly."  
  
"And the people who know that..."  
  
"Are all accounted for. At least, the ones we know about are."  
  
"Tim, Dick, Clark, Max, Stalker, Ra's, you and me. Possibly the Brain Trust. I spoke with Tim just before I saw the news, Dick's laid up with a sprained ankle, Clark wouldn't dare, Stalker just wouldn't, and neither would Ra's."  
  
"Max was at the hospital with the rest of us. From her reaction, I don't think she's involved. And the Brain Trust... they could be behind this, but if they are, I can't think of a motive."  
  
"Well, it was just a thought."  
  
"And you could be right. Just because I can't think of a motive doesn't mean one doesn't exist." Bruce turned to the computer, ready to set to work. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel useless. After a while he heard Barbara chuckle for no apparent reason, then she left without another word.  
  
******************************************  
  
J-man shivered in his hiding place. Wherever The Bat had been, it had changed him. Before The Attack- like most of Gotham, he'd gotten into the habit of referring that way to the assault he'd organised- fighting Batman had always been a losing battle, but not like this. Now The Bat didn't even seem human.  
  
Not for the first time, he wished he'd never had the bright idea of giving No Fun Boy a permanent smackdown. He'd just wanted to get back the respect the Jokerz had been losing. The T's had been laughing at them for getting their butts kicked by a single guy who didn't even have a fancy suit to give him an edge. That was just too much. He'd figured that making an example of that twip would stop the laughing. How was he to know that No Fun Boy worked for the richest guy in Gotham? Worse, that the richest guy in Gotham was Scary Old Guy himself! When he'd seen that on the news, he'd known they'd have to get rid of the twip quickly so they'd cut their fun short and dumped him in a section of the park that nobody ever visited anymore. The twip should have died. Hell, he'd been almost dead when they'd left him. But someone had gone for a walk in the wrong place at the wrong time or something; anyway, he'd been found. And then Old Man Wayne had tracked him down and the city had learned what the Jokerz could do when they felt like it, but had they reacted like J-Man thought they would?  
  
Well, if they had, he wouldn't be cowering inside an abandoned building all alone.  
  
They should have been terrified. The Jokerz had proven they could hit anyone they wanted. Instead, it had become open season and it wasn't fair! And Mad Stan deciding that the twip's mother was his One True Love was something they really hadn't needed. After all, those dorks from the Royal Flush Gang were being careful not to kill anyone. So was that tattooed freak. But Mad Stan? He hadn't killed anyone yet, but J-Man knew that couldn't last.  
  
God, for a few hours they'd been on top of the world. No Fun Boy was theirs to kill, then that damn report had ruined everything. If he'd just had the time he'd have had that twip begging for his life. He'd wanted to see No Fun Boy beg. But he hadn't. Not even when they'd broken his leg with the crowbar. Not even when they'd burned off his fingerprints so the cops couldn't identify him too quickly. And not even when they'd dragged him to that deserted section of the park and hauled out the baseball bats. He'd just forced his eyes open and looked right at J-Man. No Fun Boy hadn't said a single word, but that look still made J-Man wake up screaming. It was like the twip had known what would happen, and his only regret was that he wouldn't be there to watch. J-Man had grabbed a baseball bat and taken the first swing himself, just to make the twip stop looking at him.  
  
It hadn't worked. Every time he closed his eyes he could see those pale blue eyes telling him that he was going to die too.  
  
A noise in the corner made him jump, all his attention focussed in a second.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
Silence. J-Man reached for the grenade he'd lifted off Mad Stan the day before. He turned and saw something move.  
  
"Batman! Stay away!"  
  
He pulled the pin, threw the grenade. Just after he heard the tinkling of broken glass he remembered the remains of the mirrors along the wall of the old store. The grenade bounced back toward him.  
  
***********************************************  
  
"Batman" stood outside the abandoned building, watching smoke billow from the now totally glassless windows. He'd tracked J-man here, but had arrived seconds after an explosion had ripped though the place. The police officer who had been trailing him was staring in horrified confusion.  
  
"I know you didn't do that," she said, "so who did?"  
  
"I don't know." Ignoring the creaks and groans coming from the damaged store, he walked toward it. His infra-red sensors were picking up small fires, doubtless started by the explosion. What they weren't picking up were any signs of life. They were, however, picking up the unmistakable traces of recently deceased bodies. Mostly rats, some sparrows, a few pigeons- and one human.  
  
"Batman" sighed heavily. He hadn't wanted this. He turned, starting to walk off. Then an ominous groan filled the air. He scanned the building quickly, realised the danger, and dove for the officer. Both of them were sheltered around the corner of another building when the old store collapsed.  
  
************************************************  
  
Bruce was still scowling as he walked down the hospital corridors. He couldn't honestly say he was sorry that J-Man was dead, but Batman shouldn't have been involved. Even a fake one. Even when the witnesses agreed that the explosion had taken place before his arrival. He was linked to it, and that was enough.  
  
"Bruce, if you don't get that look off your face, Terry's gonna think he did something wrong."  
  
Tim's comment went unnoticed.  
  
"This shouldn't have happened."  
  
"Care to specify?" Tim sounded more than a bit exasperated; that Bruce noticed.  
  
"No."  
  
"Figures."  
  
Bruce's scowl lessened a bit, then deepened as he heard a loud voice coming from Terry's room. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but he could understand the tone easily enough: someone was getting bawled out for something. If anything had happened... he increased his pace.  
  
"..don't even deserve the name! You should have died! They should have killed you the same way you killed my son!"  
  
Bruce threw the door open. A tall, silver-haired old woman was leaning over Terry, screaming at him. Terry had drawn away from her as much as he could; unfortunately, that wasn't much. His face was dead-white and even from the door Bruce could see that he was trembling.  
  
Bruce hadn't moved so quickly in a long time. Before he knew it he was across the room, grabbing the woman's arm and practically throwing her at the door.  
  
"Get out."  
  
Tim started to catch the woman out of pure instinct, but stopped himself. The woman steadied herself on the doorframe, then turned and shot a poisonous glare at Bruce.  
  
"I should have known you'd show up. You disgust me, both of you. I know what you're really doing with that dreg, and I'm going to tell everybody what kind of man you really are. People like you-"  
  
Tim grabbed her arm, cutting her off. He wasn't as naturally intimidating as Bruce, but he was still a good deal bigger than the woman.  
  
"The exit is downstairs. Use it. I'll be watching. And don't expect the guards to let you back in again."  
  
He shoved the woman away from him and out the door, then followed her down the hall. Bruce turned back to Terry, barely stopping himself from asking who the woman was. Even if Terry had known, he was in no condition to be questioned. Bruce hit the call button, alarmed, as he tried to calm Terry down. The damage had been done, though; Terry was practically hysterical. Whatever the woman had said before they'd caught her, she'd managed to completely terrify him.  
  
Ms. Maguire rushed in, took one look at Terry, and ordered the young man beside her to fetch a sedative. It was a very long two minutes later before Terry's eyes finally closed and his breathing returned to normal. Bruce looked down at Terry's tear-stained face and decided that someone else's life was going to be made hell for a while. It wouldn't take too long to find out who she was, and when he did... But first he had to find out what exactly she'd said.  
  
"Now, if you'd care to be explaining things, Mr. Wayne," Ms. Maguire said quietly. Bruce looked at her; she was just barely restraining a raging temper.  
  
"Tim and I came in and found some woman yelling at Terry. We threw her out, but..."  
  
"You threw her out?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Without bothering to call Security? Who, I might add, were just down the hall."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Ms. Maguire sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.  
  
"And if she'd been armed, what would you have done then? This is a dangerous town, as you should know by now, and anybody who would come into a hospital and have a temper tantrum at a boy less than a week out of a coma is probably not someone whose best judgement is to be trusted. If you should see her again, please leave it to the professionals no matter how tempting it is to have her guts for garters. After all, how would we be explaining it to the lad that we'd let you get hurt trying to protect him?"  
  
Bruce was stunned. He hadn't been lectured like this- except by Barbara- since Leslie died. Nobody had dared. And what was worse, she had a point. He hadn't stopped to consider whether the woman was armed; he'd just acted. He was almost about to admit it when Tim returned with an odd expression on his face.  
  
"Well, the old bi- uh, woman's gone, and I don't think she'll be back soon."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"Good lord, you're as bad as Mr. Wayne."  
  
"I didn't do anything," Tim protested. "Not that I wasn't thinking about it, especially after listening to her rant for 15 floors, but the other old woman beat me to it."  
  
"What other old woman?" Bruce growled.  
  
"The one who rode down the elevator with us. The second we got outside she, um, she..." Tim broke off, clearing his throat.  
  
"She what?" Bruce and Ms. Maguire chorussed.  
  
"She hauled a dead fish out of her pocketbook and started hitting the first old lady with it, screaming that she'd better leave 'that sweet young man' alone or- I'm not repeating the last part. Little old ladies have changed a lot since I was a kid is all I'm saying."  
  
Bruce's eyebrow shot up. Tim didn't try to look away.  
  
"A dead fish?" Ms. Maguire blinked.  
  
"Could I invent something like that?"  
  
"I don't know. But I wish I'd seen it. Still, I-"  
  
Bruce, sensing another lecture, cut her off.  
  
"Did you find out who she was?"  
  
Now Tim looked away, the smirk gone.  
  
"Yeah. I did."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Her name's Brenda McGinnis," Tim scowled. "Bruce, that old witch was Terry's grandmother."  
  
**********************************************  
  
Well, that should stir things up nicely... 


	19. An Arresting Development

Thanks, all. Since most of the reviewers hit on the same points, I'll answer them en masse.  
  
Yes, Terry's grandmother is a malevolent bitch. Sad thing is, she's not completely fictional. I know people like this. I avoid them strenuously.  
  
I didn't actually go into the full details of what the Jokerz did to Terry. To be honest, I deliberately decided to not try to come up with the exact details. I don't have much of a taste for blood and gore and the attack would probably have resembled a scene from a Tarantino movie, so I figured out what the main injuries were and decided to let the readers fill in the details for themselves. Bits and pieces of the attack will be revealed throughout the story, but I have not and will not write down the whole thing.   
  
Oh, and girl-gambit- yes, it was Harley. And the fish was a trout.  
  
********************************************************  
  
Max paced, wondering what the first signs of a nervous breakdown were. She was good at keeping secrets. She'd had plenty of practice over the years. But now she had one secret too many and the three people who most needed to be kept in the dark were the three people she had the most trouble lying to: Terry, Commissioner Gordon, and Bruce Wayne.  
  
*You don't have a choice, girl. If this goes wrong, then the less they know the better. Nobody will be able to trace this back to them; I made sure of that. I'm the only one who'll get in trouble.* Max laughed shakily. *Me protecting them. Holy role reversal, Batman.*  
  
********************************************************  
  
Barbara paced, wondering who could possibly be the fake Batman. Granted, it had been less than a full day since he first appeared, but she couldn't help thinking she should have solved it already. She knew she had to solve it before Bruce; if she didn't, Bruce probably wouldn't leave enough pieces of the idiot for her to yell at. And she had a beauty of a rant waiting.  
  
The computer beeped, distracting her. Wondering what Max had done this time, she killed the screen saver.  
  
"Oh. Good. God. Bruce, you blithering idiot, what did you do?"  
  
********************************************************  
  
Tim paced, wondering how he was going to explain this to his wife. Not half an hour after he'd escorted that demented heifer out of the hospital a pair of very uncomfortable cops had shown up to arrest both him and Bruce for assault. The demented heifer had called them and told them a story that sounded like a B-movie plot; they hadn't believed it, but they were required to check it out. They apologized all the way to the station, not that it lightened Bruce's glower any.  
  
Now Tim was waiting in a holding cell, escorted there by another apologizing cop, while Bruce was being questioned. He wondered if they apologized before or after each question.  
  
The door suddenly opened and Barbara was there, trying not to grin.  
  
"Hi, Tim. Sorry about this."  
  
"Don't you start."  
  
"He didn't really throw an old lady across a room, did he?"  
  
"Uhhhh.."  
  
She lost the grin.  
  
"Tim, that was not the answer I wanted to hear. If Bruce really did anything to that woman this could be a serious problem. You know how much the press loves stories about him since he came out of hiding. They've been mostly positive so far, but even if he was justified-"  
  
"He was."  
  
Barbara gave him a sharp look.  
  
"You weren't there, Barb. If Bruce had decided to throw her out the window I'd probably have opened it for him."  
  
"That's not something you should be saying to me right now."  
  
"Look, the old witch had that kid so worked up they had to sedate him. She told him he should have died and accused him of killing his father. She also started to drag up those old rumors about Bruce being a chickenhawk, but I shut her up that time. And before you ask, all I did was grab her arm. Then I escorted her out of the hospital. And I have no idea who the little old lady with the fish was."  
  
"Fish? -No, never mind. I'll find out later." Barbara sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "So you're telling me that Bruce was just trying to keep her from upsetting Terry."  
  
"Haven't you talked to him yet?"  
  
"No. I wanted all my facts together before I did that. It's the only way to handle him."  
  
Tim stifled a grin, knowing Barbara wasn't in the mood.  
  
"Well, we'd better go talk to him now before they apologize him to death."  
  
"What do you mean, we?"  
  
Tim hesitated, shooting her a look. She wasn't smiling.  
  
"Uh, well, I-"  
  
"You are staying here until someone comes to get your statement. I'm going to talk to Bruce. After that... we'll see."  
  
"Barbara!"  
  
"Serves you right. You were supposed to be keeping him out of trouble."  
  
She left. Tim slumped down onto the bench, sulking.  
  
"Keep him out of trouble. Who does she think I am, Selina Kyle?"  
  
*******************************************************  
  
Bruce wished he could pace.  
  
*At least they've stopped apologizing.*  
  
"Could we go over this one more time, Mr. Wayne."  
  
*Why not? I might have caused a random flux in the space-time continuum and rearranged history in the five minutes since you asked last,* he thought. What he actually said was, "Of course, although I don't see how it will help."  
  
"Humor me."  
  
"Believe me, I am," he growled, his temper flaring again. The man seated across the table from him, Lt. Welsh, frowned.  
  
"Mr. Wayne, you've been charged with assault on a seventy-four year old woman. This is a very serious matter."  
  
"Do I look like I'm laughing?"  
  
"No, you look ready to commit mayhem. Which doesn't help your case. Now, Mrs. McGinnis claims that she was visiting her grandson in the hospital when you burst into the room, and physically threw her out. You claim you entered the room and found her browbeating the kid, so you grabbed her arm and shoved her away. Your friend- ex-ward- whatever you call him- then escorted her from the building. I'm not even asking about the second old lady with the fish. At least, not yet. Have I missed anything?"  
  
"No. And I would remind you that I'm eighty-one and have a bad back and a heart condition. The woman in question is about five-nine and weighs at least one-sixty. Although I admit that I may have shoved her a bit more forcefully than was necessary, I hardly think I could have thrown this woman any distance at all."  
  
"So you're saying she's lying."  
  
"Exaggerating, anyway. Quite frankly, I'm not too convinced of her mental stability. Her actions at the hospital seemed to indicate a deeply disturbed individual."  
  
"Got a psych degree, do you?"  
  
"She was harassing an eighteen-year-old boy who had only recently awakened from a coma. She accused him of murdering his own father. And she screamed at him that he should have died. Do those sound like the actions of a sane woman to you?"  
  
Lt. Welsh's frown deepened. Bruce hoped he was getting through to the man.  
  
"Okay, you've got a point, Wayne. But so does she. I took a few minutes to look at the kid's record when this mess got dumped on me. The kid was the favorite suspect for his father's murder after the Jokerz. Kid's got a history of violence, argued with his father a lot, and suddenly the guy's dead. Now, I'm not saying I believe the kid killed him- I may not have a psych degree but I know the difference between a kid who gets into lots of fights and a killer- but I'm a cop. She's a mother whose son was murdered. It doesn't matter if it makes sense or not, not to her." Welsh hesitated, then flashed Bruce an exasperated glare. "And I have to admit that after meeting her I wasn't too sure of her stability myself. Which is why I have to make sure your story is as clear as I can make it. I've been a cop for thirty years and I know this lady's type: she'll try to twist everything to make sure you look like the villain because she can't possibly be in the wrong. Now, you're sure you've told me everything."  
  
"I hope so, because I'm going to be comparing it with what Tim just told me and if there are any discrepancies I'm going to find some very interesting methods to clear them up."  
  
Welsh jumped, not having heard Barbara enter, but Bruce just gazed up at her with an internal sigh. He knew she'd show up eventually.  
  
"Hello, Commissioner. There probably are discrepancies. After all, I didn't actually see the fish incident."  
  
"And I'm still not asking about that, because I'm not sure I want to know. Relax, Welsh, I'm not here to give him a 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card. He's old enough to know better."  
  
"Thank you, Ma'am, but I'm just about done. Unless Mr. Wayne has something to add?"  
  
"No. I've told you what happened."  
  
"Then I just have one last question." Welsh gave him an odd look. "Why didn't you call a lawyer?"  
  
"It wasn't necessary. It was a simple matter and all a lawyer would have done was try to interrupt me every five seconds to tell me not to answer any questions. Then we'd have been here all night and I'm sure we all have better things to do."  
  
Welsh grinned for the first time since he walked in the room and Barbara rolled her eyes.  
  
"You're free to go, Mr. Wayne. I'll have to continue the investigation, of course, but if your story checks out I'm sure the charges will be dropped. You could counter-charge her with a few things yourself, you know."  
  
Bruce was tempted.  
  
"...No. As long as she doesn't pull something like this again, I'll let it slide."  
  
"Good," Barbara growled. "Now if you'd just come up to my office, I'd like a word with you."  
  
Welsh winced and made himself scarce. Bruce wasn't surprised; he'd thought the man was fairly smart.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Tim was slightly glassy-eyed as they made their way out of Police Headquarters. Bruce wasn't surprised by that either; he didn't think Tim had ever been on the receiving end of a Barbara rant. Bruce was used to it though and this one hadn't even been one of her better ones, possibly because he knew she agreed with them.  
  
"Oh, crap," Tim muttered suddenly, stopping in his tracks. Bruce followed Tim's gaze to see Brenda McGinnis lying in wait for them. The man standing beside her wasn't personally familiar to either of them but was of an easily recognizable type- almost a stereotype, in fact.  
  
"Oh, crap," Tim repeated. "She's brought a pointy-haired boss. Bruce, would we be cowards if we went out the back door?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Can we do it anyway?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Barb'll kill us if we get arrested again, you know."  
  
"We won't." *I think.*  
  
Armed with the extremely bad mood that had been building since he first heard about the fake Batman, Bruce stepped forward to face his newest adversary.  
  
***********************************************************  
  
I meant to write this confrontation this time, but my brain is out of gas. Sorry. 


	20. Unexpected Complications

Sorry about the delay- I went to a con two weeks back, came back hideously ill, and was pretty much useless the rest of last week. The lingering after-effects have made me disinclined to do anything that resembles work. However, I do have both this and the next chapter waiting to be posted, so I should probably get off my ass and do it.  
  
LeaMarie- She's the Commssioner. It's her job to yell. It's also her hobby, I think. G  
  
Masked Thespian- I do actually have stories in the works where Terry's family isn't an issue. However, these are the two I've got ready to post. And in case you're wondering, I get along fine with my family. Ignore the big smoking hole over where my sister was standing; nothing to see, move it along... (Now she really will kill me if she's reading this)  
  
girl-gambit- Has Bruce ever been wrong?  
  
GroveSideMonster- These are the thoughts that kept me out of the good schools.  
  
As usual- *-* denotes thoughts.  
  
Now on with the show....  
  
*************************************************  
  
Tim recognized the look on Bruce's face, even if he hadn't seen it for nearly forty years. It wasn't a Bruce-glare, it was a full-fledged Defcon-2 Bat-glare. There was only one sane reaction to seeing that look, but he followed Bruce anyway. He did, however, take a few seconds to grab an officer and tell her to get the Commissioner NOW. The officer looked over at the rapidly clearing area around Brenda McGinnis and made a sound of disgust.  
  
"Her again. Figures. That woman is proof that Mad Cow Disease hasn't really been eliminated."  
  
"I wish I had time to ask about that, but I have to go prevent a homicide."  
  
"Don't rush."  
  
Despite her comments, as Tim headed after Bruce he could hear her on the phone asking to speak to the Commissioner. He hoped Barbara would get there soon; he also hoped she wouldn't blame him. He hadn't been joking about slipping out the back door. If Bruce let himself get too worked up...  
  
"Just don't do anything you could get arrested for," he growled at Bruce when he caught up to the old man. Bruce ignored him. "Bruce, calm down. I mean it. Come on, you've run into her type before and you know what they're like. Remember Angela Braithwaite?"  
  
"I remember. I also remember that she didn't throw her little tantrum when you were trapped in a hospital bed with no memory of anything and no way of knowing whether or not she was lying."  
  
That was true. She had accused him of stealing her diamond bracelet right in the middle of the dance floor at a Wayne Foundation party. The fact that he hadn't been anywhere near her all evening was irrelevant to her; as far as she was concerned he was street trash and that was enough to convict him. When Veronica Vreeland had handed over the bracelet and told her that she'd dropped it in theladies' room there had been no apology, only the comment that he'd been luckythis time. After that incident Mrs. Braithwaite had no longer been invited to any Wayne Foundation or Vreeland gatherings and had soon dropped off the social radar. He'd regretted that a little; he'd had a wonderful bit of payback in mind. Which was possibly Bruce's point- he'd known he hadn't been anywhere near her and couldn't possibly have stolen the bracelet. He could have and had defended himself.  
  
*Getting slow, Drake. Right now you could tell McGinnis he'd been one of Santa's elves and he wouldn't be able to argue. No wonder he was so freaked. Great. And unless Bruce knows what really happened and hasn't told me, there isn't anyone who can tell the kid for sure that he isn't a murderer.  
  
Ah, screw it.*  
  
"Hey, Old Man? Kick her ass."  
  
**************************************************   
  
Bruce nodded as Tim suddenly gave his blessing to what he'd been going to do anyway. Then they were face to face with Brenda McGinnis and all distractions were summarily dismissed. The woman also looked ready to fight.  
  
*Good.*  
  
The man Tim had described as a "pointy-haired boss" stood next to her. Technically, the description didn't fit, Bruce thought. After all, to be a pointy-haired boss one needed to have hair. But he did give every indication of being the type of smiling idiot that the term described, so Bruce let it pass.  
  
"Bought your way out already?" the older woman sniped.  
  
"Now, Brenda, don't exaggerate," her companion said, then smiled smugly at Bruce. "Feisty little lady, but she does overdo it sometimes. Now, Mr. Wayne, we're both men of the world; I'm sure we can come to some sort of understanding."  
  
"What you can understand is that if That Woman ever comes near Terry McGinnis again I'll have her arrested. No matter what her opinion of her grandson is, there is no excuse for what she did today and-"  
  
"Grandson? That dreg is no grandson of mine! I-"  
  
"Brenda, let me handle this. Mr. Wayne, you seem to have made a mistake. Like my wife said, Terry Donovan isn't our grandson. In fact, he has no legal right to the name McGinnis, but we've let him keep using it because really, what his mother did isn't his fault. We just don't use it ourselves. But that's not why we're here, is it?"  
  
Mr. McGinnis continued to yammer about nothing much for a few minutes, allowing Bruce to bring his shock under control. The playing field had very suddenly been altered and he had to adjust. If these two believed what they were saying- worse, if even part of it were true- it would change a great many things. He'd have to handle this differently.  
  
*Damn it, I can't act until I know more.*  
  
"All right, that's enough," he growled, causing Mr. McGinnis to gape at him. "Regardless of whether you are related to my assistant or not, the fact remains that this woman came into his room and acted completely unhinged. Her actions may well have delayed his recovery. That is unacceptable. And I meant what I said- if she comes near him again I will have her arrested. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"You have no right-"  
  
"Do I make myself clear?"  
  
There were few people who could withstand that particular tone; the elder McGinnises weren't any of them. Mr. McGinnis looked terrified and Brenda turned a very unflattering greenish-white. Even Tim took a few steps back. Bruce didn't realise that, old or not, at the moment he looked more dangerous than he had in years. He gotten a reputation for being bad-tempered, but nobody had expected the cold, deadly rage that was being directed at the couple in front of him. A few of the officers discreetly keeping an eye on the situation reminded themselves that they were armed and prayed they wouldn't need to remind him.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Y-yes, sir," Mr. McGinnis squeaked. That seemed to snap Brenda out of her daze.  
  
"What? You wimp! Well, I'm not going to be pushed around by some stinking pedo-"  
  
Mr. McGinnis proved he wasn't a complete idiot by clapping his hand over his wife's mouth and physically dragging her away. Bruce glared after them, but let them go. He'd deal with them later. Beside him he heard Tim start breathing again.  
  
"Geez, Old Man, for a minute there I thought you were going to completely annhilate them."  
  
"What makes you think I won't?"  
  
"Just keep it legal," Barbara said from behind them, causing Tim to jump and yelp. That broke the tension enough that the spectators started to drift away, but Barbara didn't move. Neither did Bruce.  
  
"There's something going on here that I don't know about, Barbara."  
  
"Well, I'm sure you aren't waiting for my approval to go find what it is."  
  
"How much did you hear?" They spoke in low voices now, trying for some privacy.  
  
"Just in time to hear her say Terry wasn't her grandson. Which might be true, or it might not be, but she believes it."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yeah, but she's nuts," Tim said. "I mean, come on! Wouldn't Terry have told you about something like that? For that matter, didn't you check him out pretty thoroughly before you hired him?"  
  
"I knew there were some family tensions, but I didn't get exact details. It's not the sort of thing that outsiders can find out easily. And Terry didn't talk about it, although he did say once that his father didn't speak to his grandparents often. I'm begining to understand why."  
  
"Yeah, but you'd think he might have mentioned not actually being related to his father. That's a pretty big omission, and I just don't buy Terry hiding that."  
  
"He wouldn't- if he knew."  
  
Tim shut up. Barbara winced. This was already ugly, but now it promised to get positively hellish.   
  
***********************************************  
  
He walked up to the door, his arms full of brightly-wrapped packages. He wasn't going to enjoy this, he knew. He'd never gotten along with his grandparents, and this year was going to be even worse: it was the first Christmas since... he shied away from the thought. Things were going to be bad enough without him making it worse for himself.  
  
"And I'm carrying all the packages... why, again?"  
  
"'Cause I'm the brains and you're the muscle," Matt sniped from the porch. Their mother just laughed and rang the doorbell. Terry couldn't see who opened the door but he did hear his mother and little brother head in, still giggling. He was so going to get Matt. His mother had an excuse- she'd sprained her wrist a few days ago and couldn't be expected to carry anything much. Matt, on the other hand, was doomed.  
  
"And just what do you think you're doing here?"  
  
Terry bit back a curse; apparently She wanted to start the festivities early.  
  
"Gee, I don't know, Grandma- maybe spending Christmas with my family?"  
  
"Then you'd better go find one, hadn't you? You don't have one here, that's for sure."  
  
"Here we go again," Terry muttered. "Look, can we do this inside? This stuff's getting heavy."  
  
"What makes you think you're coming in? Maybe that Southie trash you're used to lets you run around tame when you're up there, but we have standards around here. And at any rate, I am not letting my son's murderer step foot in my house."  
  
The packages fell from his arms as the door shut firmly in his face. He was dimly aware of hearing the lock engage. For a few minutes he just stood there, numb with shock. Finally, he raised a fist to knock on the door, but then he lowered it and slowly walked away.  
  
He walked for a long time, trying to ignore the pain. He'd always known she hated him, even if he didn't know why, but this was even worse than the last time he'd seen her. And he knew better than to expect any help from his grandfather- all he could expect from that corner was a less vicious but still snarky comment about bad blood. They'd made it clear long ago that as far as they were concerned, the world would be a much better place if he'd never been born. At times like this, he almost agreed with them.  
  
He got dinner at a deli at which he'd once stopped a robbery. It almost cheered him up hearing them talk about it as if it had happened just last week instead of back in September. At the time, the owner had insisted on giving him a small tub of soup as a reward. ("Superheroes gotta eat, just like us mundanes," she'd quipped) He'd tried to argue with her but had lost badly, much to Bruce's thinly-veiled amusement. It had been good soup, too. Since then, he'd been back a few times. It was nice and quiet and just the place to go when he didn't want to deal with the crowds at the usual teen hangouts. Today, however, he went because it was nice and quiet and he wasn't likely to run into anyone he knew other than the regulars there who wouldn't say anything. The Someday Deli was just that type of place.  
  
He managed to beat his mother and brother home by a good twenty minutes. he knew there would be some difficult questions, but he wasn't prepared for his mother's opening remark.  
  
"Terrence Edward McGinnis, I am ashamed of you!"  
  
"What?" he responded intelligently.  
  
"I know Brenda McGinnis can be a pain, and she shouldn't have ordered you to behave like a civilized human being, but that is no excuse for your having a temper tantrum, throwing the presents on the ground, and storming off! That lovely crystal sculpture I found for your aunt Trista was completely destroyed, not to mention-"  
  
"Wait a minute- I didn't-"  
  
"I don't want to hear it! Brenda told me what happened, and I am very disappointed in you. I'd hoped you'd learned to control that temper of yours, but-"  
  
"But that's not what happened!"  
  
"She wouldn't lie about it!"  
  
"And I would?"  
  
"It wouldn't be the first time!"  
  
Terry froze; he could feel the color drain from his face. His mother gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.  
  
"Terry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"  
  
He turned and walked into his room, closing and locking the door just as his grandmother had done. Collapsing on the bed, he once again wished he could have just done the world a favor and never been born.  
  
Terry opened his eyes and found himself in a very different room. It took him a few seconds to realise where he was; when he did, the events of that day came crashing back.  
  
*I did it. I killed him. He took me in and treated me like I really was his son, and I killed him. Oh, God....*  
  
He closed his eyes again, withdrawing into comforting oblivion.  
  
************************************************* 


	21. Eyeing The Evidence

Author response time!  
  
Kitty-chan- Yep. Anne McCaffrey does in fact rock. I love her version of telepathy in particular. (Not that it has anything to do with this story, but it will in other things I write.)  
  
Wakadori Ramen and Lord Marix- Actually, that memory was real and accurate. (At least for the purpose of this story. They never did any holiday stories on the show) It's just the conclusions that Terry drew from the memory that are wrong. And yes, he is a little gullible right now. I'll explain that in the next chapter.  
  
I think I was going to say something else, but I can't for the life of me remember what. Oh well.  
  
(Hit the button, Frank)  
  
***********************************************  
  
Dana looked at her watch and swore under her breath. Thanks to the crowds that hit the street on Thanksgiving weekend, she only had twenty minutes to visit Terry if she was going to get to her tutoring session on time- which was another thing to be annoyed about. Most people took this weekend off, but she got stuck with a spoiled rich kid to tutor. Still, if her father followed through on his threats and cut off her allowance she was going to need the money. She wasn't worried about tuition- she'd somehow qualified for a full scholarship and she suspected a certain elderly billionaire was involved- but she liked being able to buy things when she wanted to. She could cut back on buying clothes and such without any problems, but relying on the school stores and cafeteria for all her food wasn't very appealing. Not that the food was bad, but eating at the same place every day got boring fast.  
  
The elevator doors opened and she stepped out onto Terry's floor. The guards looked at her sharply then relaxed, which had the opposite effect on Dana. Usually when she came the guards were easy-going, not really worrying much about anything. If they were suddenly on alert then something had happened to make them that way.  
  
"Terry?" she asked, fearing the answer. One of the guards- called Jazz, Dana remembered- scowled.  
  
"He had a visitor last night who shouldn't have been on the list. She upset the kid pretty bad; he had to be sedated. Should be awake now, though, and a friendly face'll probably cheer him up. I just hope Baggie Bomb tries to show up on my shift- she'll wish it was only Wayne and Drake she was facing." The petite auburn-haired woman displayed a feral grin. Dana froze, knowing who fit the description. She'd been at Mr. McGinnis' funeral and had heard what Brenda McGinnis had said to Terry at the time. Terry had already been blaming himself for having led the Jokerz to his home and Brenda had made it very clear that she blamed him as well. In fact, she had called him a murderer, among other less repeatable things. To Dana's surprise, Terry hadn't lashed back as she had expected. Instead, he withdrew inside himself, neither speaking nor eating. It had scared Dana then, and she didn't even want to think about how he'd react now.  
  
She didn't realize she'd started running until she found herself at Terry's door. She forced herself not to fling it open, not wanting to alarm him if he was awake or waken him if he was asleep. Instead, she composed herself and quietly opened the door. One look at his face told her everything she needed to know. He looked as though he were asleep, but Dana knew better; he had withdrawn again. She clenched her fists, determined that this time the old hag wasn't going to get away with it.  
  
She would have been very happy to know that she wasn't the only one thinking that way.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Bruce glared at the computer, which was NOT working fast enough to suit him. He'd found a few mentions of Terry's family in legal records- some of which he'd marked to investigate later- but nothing to indicate that Terry was anyone other than who he appeared. Warren McGinnis was Mary's only recorded husband and his name was listed as the father on Terry's birth certificate. Bruce couldn't help noticing that Terry was born less than six months after the wedding; he didn't dare assume that it was only bad timing.  
  
Mary and Warren had both been at MIT at the time, as a student and a grad student respectively. Bruce had decided to use that as the starting point of his investigation. The official records were useless, since all they told him was what he'd already known: that they'd attended, had good grades (excellent grades in Mary's case), and graduated. Now he was searching through old copies of The Tech, Tech Talk, and other campus newspapers to find any mention of them. It was taking much longer than he expected.  
  
Bruce looked up at the pictures on the computer screen, frustrated.   
  
*There has to be some evidence, or why would they be so vehement? It can't just be that Mary was pregnant at the wedding, could it? All right, yes, it could. Somehow I don't think logic is their strong suit. But there must be something-&  
  
Bruce broke off his train of thought and enlarged a picture of Terry's family.   
  
*Oh. Good. God.*  
  
Bruce slumped back in his chair, feeling like ten different kinds of idiot. The answer was literally staring at him- in Mary's warm hazel, Warren's calm deep brown, Matt's impish lighter brown, and Terry's sparkling crystal blue.  
  
*Blue eyes are recessive, you fool. How do a brown-eyed man and a hazel-eyed woman produce a blue-eyed son? Answer: they don't.*  
  
Bruce didn't swear often, but when he did, he made up for lost time.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Stalker waited for his prey. He had no plans to kill the woman yet, but the thought of it gave him great satisfaction. Seeing The Bat reduced to a frightened child had enraged him; Inque, who had followed him again, had slipped across to the window in order to eavesdrop. She had returned in a temper rivalling his, reporting that the old woman was accusing The Bat of murdering her son among a long list of other crimes that seemed to begin with his birth. They had been considering an intervention when The Elder Bat had beaten them to it. Inque had been impressed at the display of temper from a man she had dismissed as too old to be interesting and had nearly laughed herself to pieces when the other old woman had started her attack. Stalker himself had smiled at that. Inque had then surprised Stalker by deciding to stay to keep an eye on The Bat; Stalker wondered what she would say if she knew whom she was guarding. He had then followed the first woman, first to police headquarters, then to her home. He had watched her ever since.  
  
Now he was waiting for her to come out so that he could confront her. She would not come near The Bat again if he could prevent it. Not until he was in condition to defend himself.  
  
She was out; he launched himself into the air, landing silently behind her.  
  
"Stay away from the boy."  
  
She shrieked, whirling around and clasping her hands to her chest uselessly. The woman really wasn't worth a hunt.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Stay away from the boy," Stalker repeated. The woman stared at him for a while, then the sneer returned to her face.  
  
"Did Bruce Wayne send you? If-"  
  
"I answer to no man but myself. That boy is something far beyond your comprehension. I will not let you destroy him. If you go near him again, I will kill you."  
  
Before she could do more than gape at him, he was gone.  
  
**************************************************   
  
"Batman" watched Stalker leave, knowing he should do something about it. The man had tracked Brenda McGinnis and threatened her life. That was illegal. There was no question about it.  
  
A distant scream grabbed his attention. He was needed elsewhere.  
  
"Oh dear- I think I'll have to let him get away."  
  
**************************************************  
  
"Calm down, Pinky- it's not like Zee hasn't been out on his own before."  
  
"This isn't the same thing- and don't call me Pinky."  
  
Max glared at her new houseguest. Ro ignored her and grabbed another handful of popcorn.  
  
"Seriously, Max, he can handle this. Why are you worrying?"  
  
"Because you really don't know what you're getting into. You haven't met the Old Man yet. He's gonna grind us up and use us for bat-chow when he catches us!"  
  
Ro laughed.  
  
"Oh, come on, even if this is the original Bat we're talking about, how dangerous can an old fart be?"  
  
"I once saw him take out four of the T's, just using his cane."  
  
"Whoa."  
  
"Yeah. The Jokerz don't call him Scary Old Guy for nothing. I'm serious, Ro, we're in way over our heads. And what happens when Agent Bennet shows up? If he captures Zee while he's 'on the job', it'll be even worse than when Terry disappeared! All those people out there will think Batman's just a rogue synthoid and when Terry's ready to go back, nobody'll trust him! Or worse- Bennet knows Batman and Zeta aren't the same person and if he tries to find out why Zee was impersonating Batman and the NSA finds out..."  
  
Ro slumped. She hadn't thought of that.  
  
"This is getting way too complicated. But what if Bennet doesn't show before we leave? I mean, when we got the news, we were on our way to Alberta for a talk given by one of the other scientists who worked on Zee. There's nothing related to us going on in Gotham right now, so why would he look for us here?"  
  
"Because of the huge robotics conference that starts next weekend, maybe?"  
  
Ro slumped even further.  
  
"Slaggit. You think he'll come looking for us there?"  
  
Max flopped down on the couch.  
  
"I don't know. But I do know we can't keep this up forever and when we do get caught there's gonna be hell to pay."  
  
"Uh- from which side? The old Bat or the NSA?"  
  
"Either. Both. Whichever. This is not a winnable situation here."  
  
"Well, aren't you just Little Miss Optimist."  
  
The two lapsed into silence, trying to think of a way out of the mess they'd  
  
help create.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Superman walked quietly into the Batcave.  
  
"Clark."  
  
Not quietly enough.  
  
"Hello, Bruce. You asked me to come?"  
  
"Yes, I did."  
  
Superman stared at his old friend. Bruce seemed preoccupied, which was never a good sign. He tried to guess why Bruce had called him, and came up with a very wrong answer.  
  
"You want me to help this substitute Batman?"  
  
"NO. But I want you to help me find him. I have to know who he is, and I'm not sure I dare take the time to do this my usual way- especially now."  
  
He waited for Bruce to clarify his remark, but wasn't surprised when all he got was a stony silence. Once again he reached for a possible answer.  
  
"Something you need to tell me, Bruce?" he asked, dreading the reply.  
  
Bruce looked up at him, and Clark was shocked at the obvious worry on the old man's face.  
  
"Tell me," Clark said simply. Bruce studied him for a few seconds, then gave what Clark suspected was a highly edited version of the events of the last two days. But what Bruce did tell him was worrying enough. And infuriating; this was the last thing they needed.  
  
"I could throw her into orbit if you like," he offered after another long silence. Bruce didn't smile, but a familiar glint lit his eyes.  
  
"I'll keep that option open. In the meantime, I think I can handle those two while you track down that imposter."  
  
"I guess it would look a little suspicious if Superman just popped out of nowhere to put the fear of God into her."  
  
"Just a bit, yes."  
  
"But it would be fun while it lasted."  
  
"Yes. But then I'd be obligated to track you down."  
  
"Mmm. Good point. Oh, well, it was just a thought." Clark headed out to start imposter-hunting but paused to give one last word of encouragement. "You're worrying too much, Bruce. You were handling idiots like this while I was baling hay in Kansas- that didn't come out right. So what's the worst that can happen? Terry finds out he... isn't really his father's son and his parents have been lying to him all these years which only reinforces what that witch told him and now I'm getting depressed."  
  
"Welcome to my world."  
  
*************************************************  
  
Clearing up a few things, confusing others... it's all good. 


	22. Jokerz And Synthoids And Bears, Oh My

Ahem. Oops. Gee, you couldn't tell that my last bio class was over 15 years ago, could you?   
  
In other words, I goofed. Apparently a brown-eyed man and a hazel-eyed woman can have a blue-eyed child. I'll deal with this in the next chapter, since the issue doesn't come up in this one. Thanks, BEM. Glad to have the info before I dug myself in too deep.  
  
skully1- Matt, Mary, and Warren were drawn with black dots for eyes. While it's most likely that they were all supposed to have brown eyes, it was never actually stated anywhere that this was the case. Because they haven't said otherwise, and because I felt like it, and because it suited the story, I made Mary's eyes hazel. They'd probably have drawn hazel eyes that way, anyway. (Or at least that's what I keep telling myself) As for the show itself, I don't know if anyone's still playing it. I do know they aren't making any more new episodes although Terry and Bruce did show up on Static Shock a few episodes back.  
  
Gaeriel- Most of the scenes with Mad Stan have been away from his "job". In the second episode with Zeta (Countdown?), Stan was shown to be capable of acting sane and even friendly when he felt like it. When he's out fighting Jokerz (Which I've only shown briefly) he's in full Mad Stan glory, but when he's with Mary he keeps it in check because he doesn't want to scare her off. Of course, one has to wonder what would happen if Mary ever came upon him while he was fighting Jokerz...  
  
BEM- Thanks again. I will fix this, I promise.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Coe looked around at the little group. He'd never seen some of these people without their Jokerz-gear on before and the difference was pretty mind-bending. Lula, for instance- she'd washed the green dye out of her hair and was wearing normal clothes; he'd never thought of her as being hot before. Ghoul looked like a geek. Watkins looked like a million other kids. It was just too freaky.  
  
"We all here?" Ghoul checked the gathering nervously. "Okay, good. You probably figured why I got us together."  
  
"The McGinnis kid." Coe didn't know the guy who spoke, but he'd come in with Lula so he was okay. "I wasn't in on that. Found out about it later. Didn't like it much."  
  
"Hey, none of us here did, Davy," Lula assured him. "If J-Man had just killed the kid or had them rough him up a bit that'd be one thing but this just wasn't funny. We're being honest here, right? Well, between that and the mess with the Death Star and the real Joker I been thinking maybe it's time to get out of this."  
  
"Me too," Watkins growled.   
  
"Yeah, well, I think we all do. That's why I tracked you guys down," Ghoul admitted. They all stared at him. Coe started wondering if maybe this was a trap- Ghoul had been in on the whole Death Star thing, after all. He'd worked with the Real Thing.   
  
"What do you mean?" Coe surprised himself by asking.  
  
"I mean I'm getting out and if you guys are smart you'll join me. Look, Lula's right. The real Joker was something you guys don't even want to imagine. I don't mind killing and stealing- I don't even mind smacking people around- but I never tortured nobody. That's just too much." Ghoul reached into the tote he'd brought and hauled out his gear. Before anyone could guess what he was doing, he'd shoved it in the barrel he'd hauled into the middle of the lot earlier. Then he hauled out a can of lighter fluid and a box of matches. He looked around the group, silently daring them to join him.  
  
Lula was first, followed by her friend, then Watkins, then a girl Coe felt like he should recognise, and suddenly he was standing by the barrel himself and his gear had joined the rest. When everbody had dumped their stuff in, Ghoul poured the lighter fluid all over it, lit a match and tossed it in.  
  
They all jumped back as a tower of flame erupted from the barrel, but nobody ran. Coe knew he had to see it burn and wondered if the others felt the same. He hoped that watching the fire would maybe burn away the guilt. He hadn't been there that night, but he'd known J-man was plotting something. He should have warned the twip to watch his back. He'd always kind of liked No Fun Boy; he thought the kid would have made a great addition to the group if they could just get him to lighten up and despite what J-Man and the T's thought there was nothing embarrassing about getting your ass handed to you by someone who could fight like that. Even Batman would have had a hard time with that kid, he bet.  
  
Suddenly he realised that the flames had died down to a muted glow. The gear in the barrel had been reduced to a pile of ashes, melted plastic, and twisted metal. Ghoul kicked the barrel over.  
  
"The Jokerz are dead. Let's get outta here."  
  
And one by one the others left until Coe was the only one still staring at the pile of debris. Could he really just walk away from the gang he'd spent ten years with? Was it that easy? And if he wasn't one of the Jokerz, then who was he?  
  
Coe sighed and turned away. Maybe it wasn't that easy, but he'd do it anyway. And he'd do it somewhere else; Gotham just felt wrong to him now.  
  
*Wonder if I could get a job with Uncle Al in Sacramento...*  
  
************************************************  
  
Normally when an investigation was frustrating him it took an act of God- or Alfred- to get Bruce out of the cave. A tearful phone call from an attractive woman didn't come close to gaining his attention. But when the woman in question was Mary McGinnis and the reason for her call was that Terry wouldn't wake up, Bruce was out the door in record time. He was at the hospital much more quickly than usual as well. When he reached Terry's room, Mary was waiting for him with Dr. Tikkainen; they adjourned to the doctor's office.  
  
"There's no physical reason for this, " Dr. Tikkainen said bluntly, not even waiting for Bruce to ask. "This is definitely a psychological problem, most likely because of yesterday's events. Has he ever done anything like this before?"  
  
"Not that I know of," Bruce replied, looking at Mary. She just nodded.  
  
"Not this bad, but, yes, he has. You know about Charlie Bigelow?"  
  
The two men nodded; Bruce wondered how much Tikkainen actually knew about Terry's younger days and how he'd found out. He got the answer to the last part fairly quickly.  
  
"Well, I told you about how Terry worshipped Charlie when he was Matt's age- well, shortly after that Warren and I- our relationship started- well- it got pretty ugly at times. And Charlie was always there to cheer Terry up. At first I was glad that Terry had this big brother figure to look up to and by the time I knew what Charlie really wanted it was too late. Charlie managed to convince Terry that we didn't care about him and that only Charlie could help him. That we were ashamed of Terry because he wasn't smart enough for us. Between Charlie and That Woman, Terry was convinced that being a gang member was the best he could hope for. Then when they got arrested and Charlie took most of the blame on himself and went to jail- Terry blamed himself for everything. He withdrew inside himself for over a week. Barely ate, wouldn't speak- he scared us. We thought he might be suicidal, but he didn't do anything. He gradually came out of it though."  
  
"Hm. Was that the only time?"  
  
"....No. When his father was killed, That Woman blamed him for it." Mary gave a short, bitter laugh. "It's probably the only time they ever agreed on anything. It was the same thing though- he wouldn't eat, speak, or sleep. He snapped out of it much more quickly that time- I think because of whatever happened the night he moved back in with me. He found a disc among his things, took off, and was gone almost all night. He thinks I don't know that he crawled in around sunrise and just fell over. Then you showed up, Mr. Wayne, and I never got a chance to ask him. Not that he'd have told me. I know it had something to do with Warren's death, and I know you were involved. But Terry trusted you and after Juvy he didn't trust easily so I let it go."  
  
Bruce nodded, although he thought Mary overestimated how much Terry had trusted him in the beginning. Then he frowned.  
  
"Involved how?"  
  
Mary blushed.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry- I didn't mean involved in Warren's death- I meant involved in whatever Terry got up to that night. And no, I haven't listened to what That Woman has said about you. She's just sour graping. Her sister told me she tried to catch you back before she settled for Stephen. After all, any man who turns her down has to be some kind of pervert..." Mary smirked, clearly not intending to say the comment that had come to mind.  
  
"Are you sure that's not the other way around- oops." It was Dr. Tikkainen's turn to blush as he blurted out the exact thought that Bruce had. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. So apparently this is a reaction to extreme feelings of guilt, possibly-probably- mixed with grief, shame, anger, and all sorts of negative emotions. And my guess is since he's trapped in that bed for a few more weeks and can't avoid people directly he's found another way of doing it. Is there any way you can convince him he wasn't at fault in his father's death?"  
  
Mary turned to Bruce, who suddenly wished Mary was a little less intelligent.  
  
"All right. Yes, I do know happened. But there is no proof or we'd have gone to the police already."  
  
An odd expression flitted across Mary's face, making Bruce wondered what else she'd figured out.  
  
"Mr. Wayne, you've done so much already and I hate to ask for more, but could you talk to him? He might listen to me, but then he might think I'm just trying to cover for him. I've done it before, even if I've given him hell for it later. If he's remembered any of those times he might not believe me. If he remembers some of them, he- he might not even want to see me right now."  
  
Bruce frowned. He was the first to admit that dealing with traumatised young men wasn't his strong suit; at least, he'd be the first to admit it if Dick wasn't always beating him to it. Still, he was the only person who could tell Terry what he needed to hear.  
  
"I'll talk to him. Now. Before things get even more messed up."  
  
Mary's sigh of relief and Dr. Tikkainen's approving nod did little to persuade him that this was going to end well.  
  
***********************************************  
  
Barbara Gordon mentally reviewed every single curse, epithet, and rude word she'd ever learned as she followed her husband through the crowd. Sam was going to owe her for this. More to the point, Sam was going to pay for this. There was a reason she didn't go to malls the Saturday after Thanksgiving...  
  
"Come on, honey, it's not much farther," Sam grinned.  
  
*Oh, he is definitely going to pay for this!*  
  
Sam didn't mind crowds. In fact, he loved them. It was one of the few things on which they couldn't agree.  
  
*Still, he's pretty cute when he gets excited like this- just like a little boy. Do they ever grow up?*  
  
Finally they broke into a clear space by a store window and stopped. It was a pet shop- not the old, now outlawed type of pet shop where the cute little animals came from puppy and kitten mills where their mothers were forced to breed until they died of it and god only knew what kind of defects were bred into the lines, but the type that had started springing up about ten years ago. It wasn't so much a pet shop as a combination walk-in clinic, adoption agency, and breeders' listing. There was a different animal or group of animals in the window every day, all obviously well-cared for. Barbara had heard that these were the pets of people who worked there, brought in to show what healthy animals should look and act like. She more or less approved; it certainly was an improvement over the old system where any idiot with a handful of cash could walk out with a pet they could neglect at will. What she didn't know was why Sam had dragged her there.  
  
*Have to admit that pup in the window is a sweetie, though. Reminds me of- he wouldn't. Sam, if you're doing what I think you're doing, you're a dead man.*  
  
Sure enough, Sam was dragging her into the store to the not-very-well-concealed amusement of the people inside.  
  
"Sam, I told you- I'm not ready for another- OOMPH!!!"  
  
A big bear of a dog suddenly stood on his hind legs and draped his front paws over her shoulders. Barbara staggered but didn't fall. She couldn't help the smile that turned into a grimace as the dog cheerfully washed her face for her before his handler could pull him away. The woman apologised profusely, but Barbara just waved it off.  
  
"Well, now you know why we've had such a time placing this one- he's attack-friendly, " the woman admitted. "We can't seem to train that trick out of him; most people see him stand up and run the other way. It's really not fair, since Kuma doesn't have a mean bone in his body- surprising, since the last owner was one of those dogfight people- of course, he only had Kuma for a few days before we busted him. Now, normally we don't do an introduction until after we're sure that both parties actually want a dog, but Mr. Young said you needed to meet him before you could be sure you were ready for another one and we do make an exception in those cases because after all it never hurts to just have the intial meeting even if nothing comes of it and I never introduced myself, did I? I'm Sally Timberlake and welcome to Timberlake Animal Placement."  
  
Barbara was more stunned by how much Ms. Timberlake could say without breathing than she had been by Kuma's greeting.  
  
"Barbara Gordon."  
  
"Yes, well, we've done the preliminary investigation- which really means we've talked to the people who sold you your last dog, in this case Gotham Animal Rescue, and your vet, and I have to say that Dr. Chase is one of the best vets in the city, I use him myself, and they both agree that any animal placed with you would be treated as well as we could wish so if you think you might be ready to have a dog again we can go ahead to the next phase, which is letting you get to know Kuma."  
  
*Good lord, she's worse than Dick used to get when he'd had too much sugar!*  
  
She looked at the dog, who sat panting happily up at her. He was a beautiful animal; mostly dark brown fur with shots of orange, white, and black giving him an almost tortoiseshell appearance. She had to admit it had been a bit quiet around the house since Jody had died of cancer two years ago. And Kuma did seem friendly, although she did wonder what would happen if he met Ace.   
  
"What kind- kinds- of dog is he?"  
  
"Well, his mother was half long-haired Akita which is technically a birth defect but they're not trying too hard to get rid of it because, really, how can you call something that's harmless and pretty a defect, and half Newfoundland, and his father was a real mixed-breed- some more Akita, some Malamute, Bernese Mountain Dog and we think some Mastiff."  
  
"Whoa."  
  
"That's a lot of big dogs," Sam said.  
  
"Well, we do have a big fenced yard," Barbara heard herself saying and realised she'd just surrendered. "Okay, okay, you were right, Sam. Let's get to know our prospective new bear."  
  
Ms. Timberlake laughed and gestured to someone across the room.  
  
"Did you know that's what Kuma means or was that just a comment on his looks? Either way, Max will show you to a room where you can spend some time with him."  
  
"Both," Barbara replied, not even considering an incipient case of Small World Syndrome until she heard a strangled squawk. She looked up to see a much paler than usual Max Gibson staring at her like she was Death come a-calling. Ms. Timberlake just lifted an eyebrow, obviously used to Max.  
  
"Uh- Sal- I- oh! Animal! Needs me! Gotta go!"  
  
And Max fled, leaving a highly suspicious Commissioner staring after her with narrowed eyes.  
  
"I take it you know our Max," Ms Timberlake drawled, for the first time not sounding as if she had too much to say and too little time to say it. "I've learned not to ask. I just hoped whatever she's hacked into won't get her in too much trouble- she really is one of the best people we've got here. I'm just waiting for her to get her degree so I can hire her as full staff. Still, right now she looks like she's got a serious case of guilty conscience."  
  
"Doesn't she though..." And Barbara Gordon smiled, suddenly knowing who to talk to next about the new Batman in town.  
  
*After all, just because she didn't know the day before yesterday doesn't mean she doesn't know now. And if she figured it out before Bruce I for one am going to enjoy myself hugely for a while.*  
  
**************************************************  
  
Superman had floated over the city, searching for "Batman". It hadn't been easy because he kept getting distracted by crimes that needed stopping. Sheer dumb luck was what finally put him in the same alley as the impostor when both responded to the same scream. The would be rapist had passed out when he'd seen Batman and Superman coming at him from different sides, and the near-victim had nearly joined him. Luck had been on his side again when a pair of cops had shown up within seconds, enabling him to just grab the impostor and fly off without worrying about leaving the victim alone. Reaching an abandoned factory, he flew inside, set the impostor down and scanned him with his X-ray vision. What he saw was not what he had expected.  
  
"You- you're a synthoid!"  
  
"Yes. Batman helped me escape from people who wanted to turn me back into an assassin after I'd discarded that programming. When I heard he was in trouble I came to help him. I thought I could convince people that I was the real thing so that nobody would connect his disappearance to-" it cut off.  
  
"To Terry's injuries," Superman finished.  
  
"You know, then."  
  
"Yes. And I also know that you must be Zeta. Look, I can understand why you did this, but there was something you didn't think about."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"That the original might get a little annoyed that someone is running around using his name without asking."  
  
"...Oh."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh, dear."  
  
Superman couldn't help thinking that somebody had done a very good job programming this synthoid; he actually sounded worried. Either that, and equally likely, or facing Bruce in a temper was enough to unnerve even a computer.  
  
"I should visit him and explain, shouldn't I?"  
  
"Might be a good idea."  
  
"Should I bring Ro and Max when I do?"  
  
"Max knew?" *Oh, Lord, Bruce'll blow a gasket.*  
  
"Not at first, but I needed a safe place for Ro to stay while I was busy and I reasoned that as she was already aware of Batman's identity she would make a good ally."  
  
"That makes sense, but I think it might be better if you went alone."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Definitely." *Because if Bruce sees them on top of everything else- yikes. In fact, maybe I should arrange for them to be out of the city. But if I do that and he finds out- and he would- maybe not.*  
  
"All right. I will see him tonight, then."  
  
"Good idea." *And thanks for the warning...*  
  
As the synthoid walked away, Superman decided that he would have to tell Bruce that he would be having a visitor that evening. He also decided that an emergency in Metropolis was going to call him away well before the meeting. Because when it came right down to it, when it came to dealing with Bruce in a temper, discretion was definitely the better part of valor.  
  
***********************************************  
  
One final comment for this chapter- there are hundreds of Jokerz in Gotham. Ghoul's comment may have been a little premature... 


	23. We Need To Talk

....I'm not dead. Really. Brain-dead, possibly.  
  
The fact is, I had a long bout of writer's block and didn't get anything written at all between my last post and mid-to-late June. And THAT, unfortunately, was on a Highlander fic. blush But last week I re-read everything I'd written to see if it would kick-start my BB muse, and lo and behold, a chapter!  
  
Woot, I say, woot.  
  
Thanks for reviewing, everyone. It really did give me incentive to get my head out of my butt.  
  
Apparently FFN no longer likes asterisks, so I guess will denote thoughts from now on.  
  
#######################################################################

Barbara leaned against the wall outside of Max's apartment, knowing perfectly well that she had a long wait ahead of her. The girl was very obviously hiding from her. It wasn't going to work.  
  
"You know, Max, I could just pick the lock and let myself in. And I will if I have to. You really don't want me to have to. Trust me on this."  
  
She knew she wasn't as innately intimidating as Bruce, but she more than made up for it in creative threats.  
  
"I mean it, Max- Quik-E-Marts."  
  
Five seconds later, the door opened. Barbara smirked; she knew a threat to Max's computer would get her attention. She walked past the still-pale Max and took a seat on the couch.  
  
"Um," Max said intelligently.  
  
"Something you'd like to tell me?"  
  
"NO!!! Uh, no, everything's fine. Well, except Terry's still in the hospital and the fake Batman running into Superman and- oh, crap."  
  
"Superman? Interesting. I wonder if Bruce knows about that. I'll bet he doesn't, doesn't he?"  
  
"Um," Max repeated.  
  
"Which makes me wonder how you know about it."  
  
"It was on the news a few minutes ago?"  
  
"No, it wasn't."  
  
"Uhhhh...."  
  
"You're sure there's nothing you'd like to tell me?"  
  
"Geez, Pinky, just tell her already! This is getting embarrassing!"  
  
Barbara raised an eyebrow at the blonde girl who burst out of the other room.  
  
"Rosalie Rowan, isn't it? Now what could you possibly be doing here? Maybe staying safe while a certain synthoid runs around hunting Jokerz?"  
  
"Um," Ro replied. Max groaned and collapsed into a chair.  
  
"I swear I didn't know anything about this until yesterday," she whimpered. "It wasn't my idea! But he'd already started and I thought maybe he'd give it up after I talked to him but he didn't and then J-Man died which wasn't his fault and then I found out about the convention and Bennett will be here any day now and Wayne's gonna kill all of us and-"  
  
"MAX!!!"  
  
"I swear I found a grey hair this morning."  
  
"Welcome to my world," Barbara said dryly. She shot a look at Ro.  
  
"If you're wondering how much I know- so am I. I kinda guessed that the guy in the hospital is the real Batman. Zeta isn't too good at keeping secrets. And he was used for espionage?"  
  
"Our tax creds at work," Max grumbled.  
  
"So Zeta is playing Batman, then. Anything else you don't want to tell me?" Max and Ro exchanged glances. Barbara chuckled. She was going to enjoy the next few hours; Max and Ro between them would tell her everything she needed to know.   
  
And for once, she was going to have the answers before Bruce.  
  
####################################################################### 

Bruce sat by Terry's bed, frowning down at the unresponsive young man. In a way, it was worse than when he was in a coma; he hadn't had a choice about the coma. This deliberate withdrawal would be harder to coax him out of.   
  
"Terry, look at me."  
  
No response. He hadn't expected one, but he had to try being gentle first. After all, you always tried the doorknob before kicking the door down. He took a deep breath, then hesitated. Terry was looking almost fragile, lying in the hospital bed. His bruises had all faded and his hair was growing out but in an odd way this only emphasized his weakened condition. He'd lost weight while in the coma- not much, since he didn't have much excess weight to begin with, but enough to make his face leaner, his cheekbones more pronounced, the line of his jaw more clearly defined. The loss of the last bits of baby fat had the paradoxical effect of making him look younger. Far too young to bear the responsibilities that awaited him when he recovered enough to take up the mantle again. Suddenly, and for the first time, Bruce wondered if he even had the right to ask Terry to return.   
  
Worry about that later. If he doesn't snap out of this, it's a moot point anyway.  
  
Dismissing the doubts that were beginning to grow, he took another deep breath, straightened his spine- and cut loose with the roar he'd used to good effect so many times before.  
  
"MCGINNIS, STOP SULKING AND OPEN YOUR EYES NOW!!!"  
  
Terry's eyes snapped open, and Bruce was stunned at the depth of self-loathing in them. He realised there was more at work here than just Brenda McGinnis' ranting.   
  
"What did you remember," he asked in a much gentler tone. Terry looked away, shame joining self-loathing in his eyes. "Terry, whatever That Woman told you, she was wrong."  
  
"No." Terry's voice was so soft Bruce wasn't sure at first that he had spoken, but he continued after a few seconds. "I killed him."  
  
"Your father?"  
  
"Warren McGinnis."  
  
Bruce wasn't prone to swearing, even in his own mind, but at that he found himself biting back a string of curses. He'd hoped he'd have time to discuss what he'd heard and learned with Mary before deciding what, if anything, to say to Terry.  
  
Stall, old man. One crisis at a time, if you can manage it.  
  
"That's what I said."  
  
"He wasn't my father."  
  
"Did That Woman tell you that?"  
  
"Yes. But I knew already."  
  
Crap. "How?"  
  
"He has brown eyes. Mom has hazel. I have blue eyes. It's impossible-"  
  
"No, it isn't." It's just unlikely. "Impossible would be if they'd had blue eyes and you had brown. If they both carried a strand for blue eyes in their DNA, they could have a child with blue eyes." There was no way he was going to tell Terry that he'd already checked and learned that Warren carried no such strand.  
  
"It doesn't really matter."  
  
"No, it doesn't. He raised you; he's your father. Biology's only important for your medical history."  
  
"And I killed him."  
  
"NO." Still as pig-headed as ever. He couldn't have lost that with his memory? "Terry, when Warren McGinnis was killed you were trapped in my house by an over-protective watchdog. You may not remember that, but I do."  
  
"But-"  
  
"You have always blamed yourself for his death, but believe me when I tell you- again- that there is nothing you could have done. Even if you had been there, all that would have changed was the number of McGinnis men buried."  
  
Terry looked dubious, but the expression in his eyes that worried Bruce was fading.  
  
"She said-"  
  
"McGinnis, in the short time I've known That Woman, I've come to the conclusion that I wouldn't believe her if she said water was wet," Bruce growled. Terry blinked.  
  
"Are you saying she lied?"  
  
"I'm saying that for whatever reason she hates both your mother and you, and possibly Matt as well. She is not what anyone would consider an impartial observer. She may believe her accusations, but that doesn't mean they're valid."  
  
Terry seemed to be considering this. Bruce stifled a sigh of relief. He really wasn't suited to play counselor, even if he wasn't making such a bad job of it at the moment. After a few minutes of silence, Terry shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Bruce's eyes again.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Terry blushed, making Bruce exceptionally nervous.  
  
"She... um. She said we- I didn't believe- at least, I didn't want to- but I'm not exactly the best judge right now, so- she was making that up, right?"  
  
This time Bruce didn't even try to restrain the sigh. If I ever get my hands on That Woman...  
  
"Terry, if you have never doubted my word before, this isn't the time to start. Our relationship may be unusual, but there is nothing improper about it. Or immoral."  
  
"How about illegal?" There was a hint of a smile in Terry's eyes now.  
  
"I'd have to think about that," Bruce shot back, turning the truth into a small joke. The smile in Terry's eyes quirked at the corners of his mouth.  
  
"We could always ask the Commish."  
  
"NO."  
  
"I'm sure she'd tell us."  
  
Bruce stifled another sigh. He'd caught Terry's unconscious use of his nickname for Barbara, and the fact that he could joke again was good, but he couldn't let himself get sidetracked. Terry had obviously remembered something that had reinforced Brenda's accusations; Bruce was determined to find out what it was.  
  
"Terry."  
  
For the first time that visit, Terry looked directly at him. The smile drained away.  
  
"What did you remember?"  
  
Terry hesitated, then told him. Bruce was stunned; as he recalled, when he'd asked Terry if he'd enjoyed his Christmas that year, the boy had just shrugged and given him a half-smile. He hadn't pressed the matter then, knowing from painful experience how hard the first Christmas after a death could be. It had never occurred to him that Terry, with his father's family still living in Gotham, could have spent it as alone as Bruce had been. More so, because Bruce hadn't had anyone to spend it with. Terry had, but had been turned away. He felt a burst of rage at Mary McGinnis for her part in it, but it died as he remembered her comment about Terry not wanting to see her if he remembered certain things. This was obviously one of those things.  
  
Terry's tale limped to a stop and Bruce marshalled his arguments. Discounting the word of a woman who had appeared out of nowhere and started flinging accusations about was one thing; arguing with Terry's own memories and their attendant neuroses was going to be much harder.  
  
#####################################################################

It was hours later by the time he got back to the Manor. He'd wanted to talk to Mary, but had decided one major confrontation a day was enough. He really should have known better than to tempt fate, because Superman was waiting for him at his front door.  
  
"That was quick."  
  
Clark just nodded with a look that said quite plainly that he was about to get out of Dodge.  
  
"It's someone you know. He'll be here within the hour. I'd love to stick around for the fireworks, but I'm needed back at the Watchtower. Call me if you need anything. I mean it. See you around, Bruce."  
  
And he was gone. Bruce looked up at the sky, his eyes gleaming.  
  
"Coward."  
  
By the time he'd gotten inside and hung up his coat, the e-mail had come through.  
  
**I heard that.** Clark hadn't bothered signing it. He hadn't needed to. Bruce just smirked and prepared for his next victim.  
  
#####################################################################  
  
That should do it for a while. Hopefully I'll have another chapter within a week. 


	24. Temptations

Right- let's try this again. I had it formatted when I submitted it, but apparently FFN had other ideas. I won't comment on my feelings upon seeing that because I'm trying to keep this PG-13.

Dacl73- the chapter you're refering to was written and posted before that episode aired. In fact, it may have been written before the episode was; I originally posted that chapter on another site in August of 2003. I've thought of a way of making it work out, but it won't come into play for a while. Let's just say that "retired" and "never putting on a costume again" aren't the same thing. And let's also say that this story happens after ROTJ and before "Future Shock".

Corran Nackatori- Nope. I don't have a regular vet.

Lukita Ravenswing- thanks for the head-up. I'd been a bit nervous when the editor tried doing odd things when I uploaded before posting, but I might not have caught it for much longer if you hadn't said something.

VeltaIO- the Selina/Harley bit was my idea. I figured Selina would want Harley as far from Gotham as possible, and Canada was the best she could do at a moment's notice, not to mention the fact that it's probably the easiest place to sneak into from the US. All she'd have needed was a fake birth certificate or Social Security card. (I'm from Maine; we learn these things even if we don't use them.) You're the first person who's noticed my reference to Ra's/Talia, btw- congratulations!  
As for the nicknames, in the first episode J-Man called Terry "No Fun Boy" and I decided to keep it. I'm not entirely sure where "Scary Old Guy" came from, but I think someone might have described Bruce that way on the show.

Spooks-A-Lot- 1)He should be out before too much longer. I have to do some new research into recuperation rates before I commit to an exact date, but since he's only been out of the coma for a week at this point, I don't think they'd be letting him out quite yet. 2)That would be telling.

Agent-G- See note above. I haven't quite decided about any Selina-offspring yet,  
but she did get married. The Dee Dees do have a bit of a crush on Terry, but have no intention of admitting it to anybody. And while I don't know about cat-fights,  
Terry's love life is going to go through a few changes, starting next chapter. One last thing- I forgot to answer your comment on the JLU/Watchtower thing; that was an editorial decision on my part. The Metropolis base obviously can't be the original Watchtower, but it's called that anyway. Why? Because that's what the base has always been called, as far back as they can remember. Never underestimate the power of habit.

MoonDancerCat- It tried to give up on me for a while, but I'm as pig-headed as Bruce and Terry and I won the fight. More chapters will follow.

- will hopefully indicate thoughts, assuming the editor doesn't kill them...

"Zeta."

"Hello, Mr. Wayne. Superman said you wanted to speak to me."

As understatements went, it was one of history's greatest. Speaking was the least of what Bruce had planned to do. Unleashing holy hell was just the beginning of what he wanted. If it had been anyone else, he would have exploded quite happily, knowing that the offender would never so much as daydream about repeating his mistake. But this was Zeta. A synthoid. A self-aware synthoid, perhaps, but still a synthoid. He couldn't bellow or glare it into submission as he could with a human. Not that he wasn't tempted to try anyway, but he knew it would be a waste of time and energy that he couldn't afford.

Treat this like an argument with Catwoman- arguments about right and wrong never got half as far as reasoning with her did.

"Why?"

Zeta had obviously learned quite a bit in his travels; he knew exactly what Bruce was asking.

"Because Terry can't, and it seems... wrong to lose all the progress the two of you have made in this town. The crime statistics since Terry first put on the suit clearly indicate that, while crime is still occurring, it is much more likely to be discovered and stopped. Less crime is a good thing, isn't it?"

"Yes. But passing yourself off as Batman..."

"I couldn't do it as myself; the NSA would have been here before I could have done any good. And creating a new superhero persona would have taken too long. And people were already starting to ask where Batman was. I thought someone might connect the two disappearances."

Bruce nodded; he'd certainly worried enough about that himself.

"How did you know?"

"That Terry was Batman?"

"Yes."

"I have a voice recognition program. That's how I recognised your voice when I picked up your transmissions to the suit as well."

"Of course; I should have thought of that." He could see Zeta... surely a synthoid couldn't relax? But that was exactly what Zeta was doing; he was holding himself much less stiffly, at any rate. The thought that he could intimidate an AI amused Bruce, but he didn't let it show. Instead, his scowl darkened. "But did you think of what could happen if you were caught?"

"Of course," Zeta said before Bruce could start his list of what could have gone wrong. "I also considered what would happen if I were destroyed, or if someone attacked any of Batman's known associates, or if I encountered someone who knew Batman's true identity other than Max-"

"Max?" Bruce's temper started to rise again as he contemplated what he'd do when he got his hands on her.

"Yes, I asked her if Ro could stay with her while I was out. She seems a little unnerved when she learned what I was doing."

"When was this?"

"We arrived Wednesday, but we didn't actually see her until the next day, after she got back from the hospital. She's really a highly intelligent person- she figured out that I had already been out as Batman within seconds of seeing us."

Imagine that. Well, maybe I won't be too hard on her after all. Zeta's actions did rather put her on the spot; knowing her, she's probably on the verge of complete nervous collapse.The thought was a cheering one.

"All right. I realise you meant well, Zeta, but this can't continue."

"Why not? Is it because J-Man died? I do regret that, but I didn't kill him."

"I know. According to the police reports, he set off some sort of explosive that brought the building down on top of him. And while I'm not pleased that Batman was linked with that, it isn't the reason why. You need to stop because the risks are too great. Agent Bennett is rarely more than a few days behind you, and with the robotics conference coming up-"

Synthoids couldn't really frown, but Zeta seemd to be trying anyway.

"That's true. But surely if the two of us work together we could keep going until he gets here? Batman should be seen as much as possible before he has to disappear again."

It was logical. It was certainly tempting. Zeta was right about one thing- it would be a shame to lose all the progress they'd made.

"If nothing else, I think it might be a good idea to pay a visit to Charlie Bigelow before I stop. His people have been much more active lately."

Bruce thought about it for perhaps two seconds.

"All right. One visit. And I'll be monitoring it. If I tell you to do something, you do it without hesitation or asking questions."

"Of course. Just like Terry would."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, wondering if Zeta were being sarcastic. All his skills at reading people weren't much help at deciphering that smooth metal face.

"If it goes well, then maybe I'll consider let you continue for a few days. You did bring up some valid points-"

"But you don't like the idea of someone other than you or Terry being Batman."

It was a surprisingly insightful comment, and Bruce couldn't argue. Instead, he stood, indicating that the interview was over.

"Go back to Max's place. Tell her I'll be calling. Don't even think of going anywhere else until I do."

"Understood."

He escorted the synthoid to the door. As he opened it, he realised he had one last question he wanted answered.

"Zeta, you knew about Terry, and you knew about me. You must have known that I'd have had something to say about this. So why didn't you just ask me in the first place?"

Zeta turned his head, and Bruce could swear he was smiling faintly.

"Because you'd have said no."

And he was gone, leaving Bruce caught once again between amusement and outrage.

Selina Kyle-Saunders opened her door with a glare more suited to her old rooftop adversary.

"I've already said no five times, Albert, what- oh. Sorry, Harley."

"I ain't askin'."

"It's not a very interesting story anyway. Basic persistant-but-annoying neighbour with more ambition than ability. And he smells like sour milk."

"Ewwwww...." Harley made a face, then got down to business. "So, you plannin' on droppin' in on Junior at all?"

"What makes you think I haven't?"

Harley gave her the look that always reminded Selina that there really was a brain under all that inanity. The former thief sighed. She had meant to visit him before he woke up, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to risk running into Bruce. She'd spent the last 40 years avoiding him, not wanting to relive the ugly scene that had ensued after she'd helped Harley get out of Gotham and get into a battered women's shelter in Canada. He had been ready to charge up there and drag Harley back by whatever means necessary, but she'd refused to tell him where in Canada the shelter was located. Events had rapidly deteriorated, ending in a black eye for her and stitches for him. It would have been worse if Poison Ivy and Riddler hadn't intervened. As far as she knew, he still hadn't forgiven her.

"He's changed, ya know."

"He doesn't change."

"Bets?"

This time it was Selina giving Harley The Look.

"C'mon, Catty, it's over. Mistah J is dead for good this time, Timmy's hangin' with Brucie again, and Bratgirl's givin' both of 'em grief just the way she used to. And the kid's a real sweetie, too. And cute- my girls have a picture of him they stole-" she broke off when Selina raised an eyebrow.

"All right, I'll listen."

"Look, we're the last two of the real Rogues still alive. In a way that makes us family, right? Sure it does. And we got an obligation to protect him from evil old trouts who, um, well..."

"Harley."

"He's got a real mean grandmother who attacked him in the hospital and almost put him back in a coma and she's gonna try something else and there's a fake Batman and he's gonna distract Brucie and we gotta save Terry!" Harley ended on a wail.

Selina sighed and sat down to the always-difficult business of getting Harley to make sense for more than a few seconds at a time.

Terry lay in his bed, glad the physical therapy was over for the day. He knew it was necessary, but that didn't make it any less tiring- or painful. They were being as careful as they could, but the fact was there just wasn't anything they could do that didn't jar something. The minor detail that he'd already been tired from the aftermath of his confrontation with Gramma Dearest didn't help either.

And oh, look, here's someone coming to visit me through the window. Do I know anybody normal? Not that I mind in this case- that outfit really works on her. But is she riding a giant flying playing card?

The window opened silently; the girl slipped in. After checking to see that nobody else was in the room, she pulled off her mask.

Wow.

"Hello, Terry," she said in a quiet, sultry voice just before kissing him as thoroughly as she could considering their respective positions. When she finally broke it off, all he could do was blink muzzily up at her.

"Um, hi."

"I know, I'm probably the last person you want to see after what happened last time, but when I heard you were awake I had to stop in. Oh, god, I was so worried about you!"

Tears sparkled in her big blue eyes. Terry decided that it would not be a good time to ask her who she was.

My brain isn't that damaged, thank you very much.

"It's okay. I'm gonna be fine- eventually." He grinned at her and was relieved to see her grin back.

"I knew you'd beat it. That's one of the first things I noticed about you, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You had this air- god, this sounds dumb- but I could tell you were one of those people who could take whatever got thrown at you and survive. You just- well, you knew who you were and that nothing anyone could do would take that away from you."

Ouch.

"Ummm... thanks. But I think you might be overestimating me a bit."

"No. That's one of the seond things I noticed about you- your tendency to underestimate yourself. You always assumed the worst about yourself and you kept expecting everyone else to do the same. It's like you didn't think you deserved anything good. Is that why you didn't look surprised when you saw me and the the rest of my family being arrested?"

"Arrested?" Terry blurted without thinking. The girl blinked, then looked at him, obviously confused.

"Terry, you can't have forgotten-"

He was blushing. He knew he was blushing.

"Um, you know that bit about me knowing who I was and nothing being able to take that away from me?"

The girl looked at him blankly.

"Apparently 'nothing' doesn't include skull fractures."

He could see the realisation dawning, followed by horror and a touch of embarrassment.

"Ohmigod- I'm so sorry! Oh, Terry..."

"Hey, don't cry!" Terry started to panic as the girl buried her face in his chest and sobbed. He patted her hair awkwardly, wincing at the pressure on his still-tender ribs.

Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcraponacrapcracker, what do I do now? Oh, no, and here comes Mr. Lebowski...

Mr. Lebowski didn't even blink at the pleading look Terry shot him. Instead, he gently pulled the girl away, sat her down in a chair, and got her a glass of water. After a few minutes her sobs diminshed into sniffles. Mr. Lebowski put a finger under her chin and lifted her head so that he could look into her eyes.

"So what's with the waterworks?"

"H- he doesn't remember-"

"Yeah, I know. It sucks. And it's gonna keep sucking for a while. But he's already starting to remember some stuff- right, Terry?"

"Uh- yeah." And a fat lotta good it did me, too!

"See? Now, you used to be with the Royal Flush Gang, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh," she sniffled.

"Well, would your mother have sat around crying if someone beat the snot out of her guy?"

"She was the someone who beat the snot out of her guy last time."

"Oh." Mr. Lebowski looked non-plussed for a second, but continued. "Well, um, before that."

"N-no. But-"

"You know what she'd have done?"

"She'd have ripped whoever into shreds."

"Exactly. Nothin' wrong with a little payback, as long as it doesn't get out of hand."

Terry couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he wasn't the only one. The girl was goggling at the older man, who didn't seem to find anything unusual in telling a teenage girl to go out and find some gang members to beat up.

"I've already done that," she admitted, ignoring the strangled squawk from Terry.

"Nothing says you can't keep doin' it."

"Now wait a minute!" The two looked at Terry. "You can't just tell her to- I mean, you didn't just- what the hell?"

"Why not?" Mr. Lebowski looked bewildered.

"Uh, well, it's- um." Terry realised that he didn't have a single argument that would work. "It's too dangerous" would probably be hazardous to his health, "It's wrong" was too moralistic, and "Because I said so" never worked. Still, whatever he hadn't said seemed to work, because the girl beamed at him.

"Oh, Terry, that's so sweet- you don't even remember me and you're still worrying about my safety. But I'm not out there alone, you know- Jack's helping me. And by the way, I'm Melanie. We used to date. See you later!"

She kissed him again, pulled her hood back on, and left. Mr. Lebowski cocked his head.

"Mary never mentioned you dating a professional thief."

"Maybe I forgot to tell her? I seem to do that a lot."

The big man grinned.

"Yeah, well, I won't tell her if you don't want me to. There are some things a mom just doesn't need to know."

"Thanks." And I'm not sure I want to know either...

To be continued- hopefully, before another six months pass. 


	25. Thing Ain't What They Used To Be

Right. Let's just see what the editor does to this chapter, shall we?

Any questions were answered (or avoided) when I fixed what that damnfool editor did to my last chapter. Or partly fixed, anyway; it still removed my scene breaks and the symbols I used to mark thoughts. With any luck, I'll have them this time.  
If not, well, there's only two scenes in this chapter anyway.

will indicate thoughts if that damnfool editor doesn't kill them.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a dark night, but definitely not stormy. In fact, it was clear and unseasonably cold. Most people were huddled in whatever shelter they could find, grateful not to be out in the single-digit weather.

Most people did not include the shadowy form that slipped through the closed window if the hospital, then re-formed itself into a shapely woman. Silently, she slipped up to the bed, not wanting to wake the sleeping young man. She looked down at him.

So young... How come I never noticed? God knows I got close enough to him. All right, I knew he was young. I just didn't realise... He couldn't have been more than sixteen when we first met. I almost killed a boy young enough to be my son.

Inque wasn't a deep thinker, and certainly not given to contemplating her own morality, or lack thereof. However, the weeks of watching Stalker watch this boy had led her to a conclusion that had forced her to set aside her usual callousness. Stalker was deeply interested in this boy; interested enough that he would sit and watch his room for hours on end. He had claimed that the boy would one day be his prey, and that he alone had the right of the kill. Inque had shrugged that off at first, regarding it as another one of her sometime-lover's quirks. But after a while, she had begun to wonder what made this boy so special. She'd checked up on the boy's history and hadn't found anything surprising, other than the fact that he had somehow managed not only to get the infamously reclusive Bruce Wayne to hire him, but also got the old man to take back his family's company. It was impressive, especially for a kid with a record, but not enough to warrant the kind of attention Stalker was giving him.

Inque wasn't a deep thinker, but she wasn't stupid. Only one other person had caught Stalker's attention in that way- a person who had suddenly vanished from the public eye just after this boy was attacked. All right, there had been a few sightings, but the ones around Halloween were easily explained and she knew the Batman wandering around at the moment wasn't the one she'd fought. She'd watched him for a while, hoping he wouldn't interfere with her latest job; he didn't move right, he had no Batmobile, and he didn't sound right. The voice was the same, but it just didn't sound like him.

When the idea had first occurred to her, she'd shrugged it off. Then she had compared her memories of Batman to the boy in the bed. The height and build were about right, but she knew that wasn't proof. She knew she wasn't going to get a chance to see him fighting any time soon, so at first she'd thought she wouldn't get to compare the boy's moves to Batman's. Then she'd had the bright idea of checking Stalker's files- but just the vid-clips; she hadn't wanted to spoil the suspense by getting the answer that easily. It wasn't a surprise to see that the kid could fight, but recognising his style had been unnerving. Finally, she had followed Commissioner Gordon, not sure if she really wanted that final confirmation.

But I got it anyway. I wonder why you let that pink-haired girl in on it? Well, I suppose you had your reasons, and she seems the type to be stupidly loyal. But now what do I do about this? Ever since you popped up, I've been hoping for the chance to kill you. I didn't know...

"I didn't know," she whispered, sinking down into the chair.

I'm a thief, a saboteur, and sometimes a killer. I don't have a problem with that. But I've never killed children. I just don't. It's not that I like them or fret about their precious innocence, but it's been the one line I've always refused to cross. Now that I know that I almost crossed it without knowing... I hate this. Ethical dilemmas are your problem. I'm one of the bad guys; I'm not supposed to care about this crap!

It was at times like these that she wished she still had fingernails to bite. She looked at the boy again; even though he was asleep, he looked sad. Before that obnoxious old harridan had showed up, he had smiled faintly while sleeping. It made made him look young, but so charming it had touched even her. She hated that that was gone, and she hated the fact that she hated it. Still, she couldn't help but remember his face when that woman had started ripping into him, how it had gone from shock and confusion to horror- but not disbelief.

I still don't get that. Okay, he's got amnesia, of all things, but how could he think he'd do even half of what that old hag said? Is he really that gullible? Or is it just that he hasn't remembered enough to know that he wouldn't? ...Great. I'm feeling sorry for the kid. This isn't doing me any good! ...But, God, his eyes when she said he'd murdered his own father...

A soft moan from the bed distracted her from her thoughts. She oozed to her "feet" as she realised he was having a nightmare.

"Dad... please... no..."

She winced at the heartbreak in his voice; she'd read the police files on his father's murder. The kid had really had more than his share of bad luck. Then, as she watched him, a thought occurred to her.

It would be so easy. He'd never even know what happened. He'd just never wake up. All I have to do is reach out and...

It was the tear that did it- a single tear snaking down his cheek.

Shit.

She sighed, knowing she'd never be able to work in Gotham again after this, but unable to see a kid hurting that much and not do something. She'd been there herself, but nobody had cared. Shifting up onto the bed, she shaped herself around him carefully, soothing him as she sang softly.

"Sing a cradle song now,  
As the light fades around us..."

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Terry looked out into the grey afternoon, trying to grasp a tune that eluded him. It was part of a fragment of a dream he'd had last night; he couldn't remember anything concrete, just flashes of a blood-stained room and a terrible sense of loss, then warm arms surrounding him and a soft, sultry voice singing. As usual, he wasn't sure he wanted an explanation.

Every time I find out what's going on, it just makes everything more confusing. And if that memory is what I think it is, I'll be just as happy if I don't get it back for a while.

"Hey, Ter, you awake?"

"Hey, Dana. Yeah, I'm just- well, you know. The usual." He grinned, slightly embarrassed at being caught brooding.

"Had any interesting visitors lately?" Dana giggled, then gave him a sharp look as he hesitated. "Don't tell me- someone not on the approved list got in."

"Um, yeah. Yesterday. Through the window."

"Oh, Melanie finally got up the nerve? I wondered if she would. She's been hanging around enough."

Terry blinked, startled and a bit worried.

"You, uh, you know about Melanie? And you don't have a problem with her visiting?"

Dana gave him a look he suspected he should be very familiar with.

"Terry, we've been friends since we met in kindergarten, and while our dating periods haven't been all sunshine and roses, we've never been so bad that we stopped talking to each other. Well, not for more than a day or so, anyway. You met Melanie just after one of the times I'd dumped you, and when she broke your heart that first time I was there for you. Then the next time she showed up- well, even if I knew all the details, I wouldn't tell you because we're supposed to let you remember on your own- but anyway, she was in a huge amount of trouble and you being you, you just couldn't not help her, and, well, things happened, then you brooded for a week before Confessing All. Hopefully you won't remember what happened next. Ever. It wasn't one of my better moments. But the swelling went down before too long," she finished with a sheepish grin. Terry stard at her, aghast.

"Let me get this straight- we've always been friends."

"Always."

"Could tell each other anything."

"Pretty much."

"Then we started dating."

"That was in high school."

"But you dump me often enough to make it worth mentioning, I cheated on you, and we keep dating."

"Well, I guess you could put it that way..."

"God, it sounds like we were better off when we were just friends!"

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?"

They were silent for a minute, then Dana sat up straight and glared at him.

"Terrence Edward McGinnis, was that just a 'let's be friends' speech?"

Terry reviewed the conversation and gasped.

"Ohmygod."

Then to his shock and utter bewilderment, Dana started to laugh. She only laughed harder when he started sputtering, trying to say something coherent that could spark a coherent explanation from her.

"That... has got to... be the... lamest... breakup in... the history of... ever!"

Terry reviewed the conversation again. She was right. And he knew he was blushing again. Then he caught her eye and couldn't help but laugh himself. That set Dana off all over again. They were still giggling when the door opened and Bruce walked in.

"Hi, Mr. Wayne," Dana choked out. Terry couldn't even do that much. Bruce's raised eyebrow just made things worse.

"Well, at least you're in better spirits than the last time I was here."

"Yeah, well, that's because Terry and I just broke up."

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. He looked back and forth between the two, obviously trying to connect Dana's statement to their reactions and failing miserably. Terry knew he didn't need his memory to realise that he had never seen the Old Man so confused. Granted, confusion from Bruce Wayne looked like anyone else's mild bewilderment, but Terry still wished he had a camera.

They stifled their laughter, hoping he wouldn't do anything to make matters more ridiculous.

"Yes. Well." He was actually at a loss for words. "I'll just- I'll be right back."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and headed out the door. Before it closed, however, they could hear the beginning of his conversation.

"Barbara? Bruce? Is Spellbinder still in jail? ... You're sure?"

That did it. The two cracked up all over again. And once again Terry was reminded of his still-healing ribs, among other injuries.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." But he kept laughing anyway.

"Well," Dana snickered, "breakups are supposed to hurt."

"Dana! -Ow...."

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Still going- I think this story turned into the Energizer Bunny when I wasn't looking. 


	26. Our Revenge Will Be Swift And Terrible

Right. Well. Okay, I know it's been just shy of a year. However, in this year I started a new job, started college, developed a few health problems (one of which required surgery, the other resulted in my being prescribed an albuterol inhaler with spacer), plus all the regular joys of everyday life. So this wasn't just me being lame; I think I broke my brain. On the other hand, will it make people feel better if I mention that my GPA was 3.73?

Small detail- I haven't seen Justice League for a couple of years. I moved in April '03 to a place where I couldn't get Cartoon Network and then to a place that had no cable at all. So I guess this is even more AU than it had been. Basically, if it wasn't in Batman Beyond or ROTJ, it ain't in here.

A number of people commented on the breakup. This isn't going to change. He's also not going to start dating Max, Melanie, or the candystriper who keep sneaking him rocky road fudge. All this means is that another high-school relationship didn't survive the maturing of the two involved. Very few do. I can count the ones I've seen that did on the fingers of one foot, and those were pretty stable. I don't think Terry and Dana were stable enough to last, and I think I took the nice way out. They're still friends, they will continue to hang out together, and they may even escort each other if one of them needs a date for something. And maybe someday down the road they may get back together, but not during the course of this story. This is simply where they need to be at this moment.

Also, Inque's actions have been questioned. Don't worry, she's still a thief, murderer, and saboteur. She's just a bit taken aback after discovering one of her favorite targets wasn't even legal drinking age. She'll probably avoid working in Gotham for a few years, but she is not going to reform. Right now she's just feeling sorry for Terry because of all she's observed in the past few weeks, not to mention the unconscious feeling that Batman lying in a hospital bed and unable to walk is just **wrong.** And you'll notice that she did what she did when she thought there was nobody around to see her. You'd think someone with her background would remember security cameras, though.

Individual response time-

Rebecca- 1) Nothing in the show said how long Terry and Dana have known each other. I just grabbed a random number out of the air.

2) The whole McGinnis family thing is to give people something to concentrate on other than waiting for Terry to finish recuperating. Also, because I looked at Terry and his father, saw absolutely no resemblence, and got a plot bunny.

3) Dana's family? They only showed her father and never said anything about any other family, so I took liberties. As for her father's actions, let's just say that any man who would knock around a kid half his size is someone whose personality is not going to impress me. Granted, he's not really as controlling as Dana thinks he is, but where Terry's concerned he's a jerk.

4) Well, there was that scene in Terry's bedroom with Terry and Melanie making out on Terry's bed just as the camera faded out. g 

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Bruce stood at the door, suddenly wondering if he really wanted to do this. There were better ways of spending a Sunday afternoon than confronting his protege's mother about a situation which really wasn't any of his business anyway. On the other hand, the situation was hurting Terry, so it had to be fixed. If the way to do that involved delving into Terry's past, then that's what Bruce would do.

_Even if I would rather be facing off against, well, almost any of my old enemies._

He rang the doorbell. Mary opened it, still looking rather pale. He knew she hadn't been back to the hospital since yesterday; she was afraid that Terry wouldn't want to see her after hearing what he'd remembered. He couldn't blame her for that, knowing what his own reaction had been when he'd listened to Terry's quiet, stumbling recitation of what he remembered from his dream. Terry had admitted that some of the details hadn't survived his waking from the dream, but the boy had recalled enough to set Bruce's blood boiling.

"I guess I know why you wanted to talk to me. He doesn't want to see me, does he?" Mary sounded resigned.

_Giving up without a fight again. Well, not this time_

"Actually, that has little to do with why I wanted to talk," Bruce said, "but since you mention it, yes, he does."

Mary gaped.

"He does?"

"He said, and I quote, 'We both get mad and said stupid things. Not the end of the world. Besides, she always spends at least a week apologising when she does.' And then he was very pleased with himself for remembering that. But as I said, that's not why I'm here."

Mary looked confused, but let him in anyway. The inevitable time-wasting details of settling down for a long and probably painful discussion were dealt with as quickly as possible, and finally Bruce turned to Mary and bluntly asked the question he'd been obsessing over for two days.

"Who is Terry's father?"

"His name was William Phelan, but we always called him Liam. How did you- oh. Her. Do I even want to know what she said?"

"Probably not. At first I dismissed her claim, but then I found a few discrepancies when I investigated."

Mary lifted an eyebrow at that.

"Let me guess- you expected to need the information to keep her away from Terry."

"Exactly." Bruce glared into his tea, knowing he couldn't affor to frighten or antagonize Mary just yet. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Mary sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. After a few seconds of fidgetting with her teacup, she arose and went to her desk. She found what she was looking for fairly quickly and returned to her seat, handing the photo to Bruce.

It wasn't some cliched fantastic resemblance, but Bruce couldn't deny that there were certain similarities between the man in the picture and Terry. Their hair was the same glossy blue-black, although Liam's was curly. Their facial features were similar, although Terry's were a bit more rounded. What really clinched it, though, were the distinctive ice-blue eyes and the smile. Those were unmistakably Terry's- or more accurately, Terry's eyes and smile were identical to his father's. But the man in the picture couldn't have been much more than twenty-five when it was taken.

"Where is he?"

Mary sighed again, still not looking at Bruce.

"There wasn't even enough left to bury."

_Hm. I should have thought of that._

"What happened," he asked, gentling his voice.

"It was one of those horrible cliched romances from the start," Mary said with a sad laugh. "I was just eighteen, a junior at MIT, doing lights for a production of Iolanthe, and he and Warren were both in the cast. I saw him and dropped a stack of gels all over the place. He helped me pick them up and sort them, and then asked me if I'd like to get a coffee with him after rehearsal. It only got sappier from there. We were inseparable, and more often than not Warren was helping us out. There was some talk, you see- as I said, I was just eighteen and Liam was twenty-four. But my family liked him, and so did my friends, so we didn't care. We took things slowly, or at least it seemed that way to us. But he proposed on my nineteenth birthday, and I said yes. I probably don't need to tell you what happened next, but two months later I slipped on some wet grass and broke my ankle. In a roundabout way, that's how I found out I was pregnant."

"Emergency room?"

"Exactly. I told Liam as soon as I found out, and he was stunned, but started making plans immediately. Oh, we knew we weren't ready and that it wouldn't be easy, but it never occurred to us to do anything else. We decided to move the wedding date up considerably, which sent my mother into a tizzy." Mary laughed again, this time merrily. "Mom's an Irish bartender in South Boston and as tough as they come, but when it came to her baby girl getting married, oh, lord, she was the epitome of the mother of the bride! Well, except that she adored Liam. Then, with two weeks before the wedding, Liam got a phone call. His aunt had just died of cancer. He told me he loved me and got the next flight to Dublin. He never got there."

Bruce stayed silent as Mary struggled with tears. He'd come up with any number of reasons for Mary's silence, some of which he wished he hadn't, but a tragic romance had never even crossed his mind. It should have, he knew; he'd seen the effects of them far too many times, not to mention having experienced them for himself. How could he blame Mary for keeping silent on a subject he himself would never discuss?

"His- his plane- an explosion- something about the fuel tank- it was just a stupid accident, but it killed over two hundred people. And it almost killed me."

Bruce looked up sharply at that.

"Terry's slipping away when things are too much? That, he got from me. I was pretty much catatonic for a week after- and when I came out of it, I was a mess. For a while, I even considered ending the pregnancy, because I knew there was no way I could raise a child by myself. Then I realised that that was stupid- my family had already promised to help, and Warren was right there by my side the whole time. Even with my family's support, I couldn't have done it without him. I guess that's why I asked him to marry me."

"You asked him."

"He'd made it clear that he wanted to continue to be part of my life. Oh, we weren't in love- but we'd both loved Liam, and we'd gotten along from the start. He wanted so much to have a hand in raising Liam's child, and I needed someone I could rely on to be a father to my child. Oh, I knew my brothers would have helped, and a few of their friends had already offered to stand as father, but they had all these romantic fantasies about comforting the grieving widow who then fell madly in love and I'll spare you the rest. But at the time, romance was the last thing I wanted, and Warren wasn't offering any. He was being a friend, and I'm afraid I took advantage of that. Not deliberately, but I did. So we ran off and got married very quietly. It wasn't until graduation that I met his family. You can probably guess how that went."

"I'm guessing they weren't happy."

"The phrase 'scheming trollop' was used a few times. So was 'low-life Southie Irish trash', which she was stupid enough to use in front of my parents. While they were having a diplomatic discussion, Warren and I slipped away. Then we laughed ourselves sick. He'd warned me about them, and I'd said they couldn't possibly be that bad. For the life of me, I still don't understand how that pair managed to raise three wonderful human beings like Warren, Edward, and Trista. Well, there's a reason Warren and Trista stopped talking to them. Edward's too much the peacemaker, or he'd have done the same. Anyway, Warren had a job offer from Wayne-Powers, and I was attending grad school at GSU, so we moved to Gotham. Ed and Tris were more than happy to baby-sit, and their friends helped out, too. But there was always That Woman trying to make trouble. Calling Child Welfare every other month, hiring a lawyer to prove my marriage to Warren was invalid, calling Warren at work to tell him I was having an affair- he ended up asking them not to let any of her calls through. Guess who got the blame for that? Warren never asked them to our place, either, but that didn't keep her from showing up and expecting us to drop everything and bow to her."

Mary was on a roll now, pacing back and forth, hazel eyes flashing. Bruce much preferred an angry Mary to a submissive one, at least when the anger wasn't being directed at him. Besides, her blowing off steam meant he was getting more of an idea of what Brenda McGinnis was likely to pull in the future.

"And as Terry got older, she started focussing on him. I suspected she hit him when we couldn't see her, and- but I'm getting ahead of myself. I know she was always making absolutely poisonous remarks to him from the start, and went out of her way to make trouble for him at his schools. She ended up getting banned from Vreeland Elementary. You know, I really don't understand why that woman wasn't locked away years ago, unless it's because that smiling idiot she married kept bailing her out. Ever notice how some deserving people don't have grand pianos fall on their heads?"

"Frequently."

Mary didn't seem to have heard him; he wondered how long she'd bottled this up.

"I still think she was the one who destroyed his Science Fair project. Despite what she said, neither Warren nor I helped him with it, and it was brilliant. He left it at the fair in perfect condition, and when he came back the next day, it had been smashed. Nobody else's had even been touched, but Warren told me that I was just being paranoid. Well, maybe it was Charlie Bigelow- he'd been pretty mad that Terry had spent so much time on that project. But you know that scar of Terry's? The one he got falling out of a tree? I know for a fact that That Woman was directly responsible for it."

"What?" Now Bruce was on his feet, furious.

"Terry was at Ed's place while I was in the hospital giving birth to Matt. But his wife Cassie decided to go into labor at the same time and he panicked and called the wrong number. He thought he was calling Trista, he told us later, but he called Her instead. We found out later he dropped Terry on Trista's doorstep and took off. Well, Cassie was a month early, so his freaking out was understandable. Anyway, She was waiting and took him to her place and set him loose in her back yard while she fixed a room for him. She made special care to tell him about the wonderful climbing tree in the back corner. What she didn't mention was that it had been damaged in a big wind storm and was supposed to be taken down in a few days. Luckily, one of the neighbours was out in his own yard and saw the limb come down and Terry with it. They had to cut the limb away..."

She broke off, once again struggling for composure. Bruce had progressed from furious to enraged. Even if he allowed for a bit of exaggeration due to Mary's obvious hatred for the woman, there was no doubt that something had to be done. There was no doubt in his mind that That Woman's actions had been an exceptionally clumsy attempt at killing Terry.

"And when the paramedics came, she no doubt told them that she'd warned him about the tree," he growled.

"Oh, yes. But only Edward believed her- or rather, he thought she'd told him about the old climbing tree and Terry hadn't heard the part about its being dangerous. Mr. McGinnis didn't even believe her, but he claimed that it must have just slipped her mind. Warren and Trista made it very clear that she wasn't welcome at either of our houses, and even Edward was a bit cool to her for a while, but that wasn't the final straw. That came about a year later, when we finally caught her hitting Terry. Funny thing was, he shrugged it off like it was nothing and everybody else hit the ceiling. He just said he never expected anything else from her, so why should he care? It wasn't like she was anyone who mattered to him. God. Poor Warren. I never meant to put him in a position like that, but he ended up having to choose between us and his mother. He chose us, but having to do that ruined our marriage. You probably know what happened after that- the constant bickering that turned into fights, Terry turning to Charlie more and more as that rotten dreg tried to warp his mind, then Juvy, then Warren's murder- which I would like explained later. She was at the funeral, of course, and I nearly hit her for what she said to Terry. Then I let Edward talk me into that fiasco of a Christmas reunion because as much as hate the old harridan, she is Matt's grandmother, and, well..."

Bruce was silent for a moment.

"In other words, a dangerously unstable woman who has already tried to hurt Terry has fixated on him as the cause of her eldest son's death."

"Dangerously unstable? You think so too?"

"I thought so the moment I saw her in the hospital, and what you've just told me has me convinced. That Woman is a threat to Terry, and she will be stopped."

Mary gaped at him, then a familiar gleam appeared in her eyes.

"So what are we going to do about her?

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They couldn't have looked more respectable. Two elderly ladies, one in a twin-set and pearls and wearing sensible shoes, the other as elegant as a pure-bred cat, walking through one of Gotham's better neighbourhoods. They stopped outside the well-kept Victorian and checked their palm-top.

"You're sure about this, Ca-uh, Selina? I mean, broad daylight?"

"I hate taking the easy way."

"They aren't home."

Harley and Selina turned to find a middle-aged man glowering at them.

"You friends of theirs?"

"Hell, no! -Uh, I mean, no, we're just- um-"

Selina shook her head; she should have left Harley behind. But the man had stopped glowering the moment Harley had started yammering, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

"So if you aren't friends, what do you want with that lot?"

Wonderful, nosy neighbours. Just what we needed.

"We have a mutual acquaintance who wishes to be kept apprised of her movements," she told him. The man looked at her, still suspicious.

"You don't look like any parole officer I've ever heard of."

Harley and Selina both gaped at him.

"Parole officer?" they chorused.

"If she doesn't have one, she ought to, the murderous old-" he cut himself off, glaring toward the McGinnis' backyard. The two women looked in that direction but didn't see anything.

"Tried to kill her own grandson. I was recovering from a broken leg at the time, so I couldn't get to him when the branch he was on broke. It was damn near the size of a tree on its own, and the poor kid got tangled in it as it fell. Broken branch went right into his gut. I called 911 the second it happened and tried to get to him, but the whole backyard's fenced off as you can see, and I couldn't get over the fence. Paramedics ended up busting part of it down to get at him. She didn't so much as poke her head out the door until the ambulance was here. A cop ripped into her, but she claimed she been at the front of the house and hadn't heard a thing. Hell, the whole damn block heard the kid's screams. I still hear 'em in my nightmares sometimes. And I can't say's I've noticed any hearing loss at any other time. But the cop bought it- or was bought. In this town, you never can tell. I keep hoping she'll get hers someday, and that I'll be there to watch."

Selina and Harley exchanged a quick glance and an evil grin.

"That," Selina purred, "could be arranged..."

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Dick Grayson sighed as he put away his ID. Whatever reason they'd had for tightening security around the kid, it had to be bad news. He just wished he'd taken the time to catch up on local events before dropping in on the kid. He'd been out of touch for a good two weeks, and any number of things could have gone wrong in the interim. Still, he felt strangely obligated to check up on Newbie any time he was in town, so here he was.

Entering the room, he noticed that a lot of the machinery was gone. That was a good sign. And he seemed to be sleeping more lightly.

_Maybe he'll wake up soon. God, I hope so._

He started to sit, only to jump back to his feet as the "comatose" boy spoke groggily.

"If this is more physical therapy, I'm going to start throwing things."

"You're awake!"

A crystal blue eye opened.

"No. I'm not." Groggy had given way to cranky.

"I mean, you're... awake!"

The other eye opened, and Terry looked at him dubiously.

"Yeah, you mentioned that already. Believe me, it was not my plan for the moment. I know the physical therapy is necessary, but that doesn't make it suck any less."

"But you're awake!"

"Okay, having driven that point firmly into the ground, let's just say that I'm... not asleep. We clear on that?"

Dick sat shakily. He was starting to realise he was making an ass of himself in front of the Newbie, which was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" He knew it wasn't a fair question and that he was whining, but he was never at his best after he was startled. Then he noticed the kid was getting a slightly panicky look in his eyes.

"Um, are you someone who- ah, crap, this sucks."

"Well, we've never met face to face, but you've probably heard of me. I'm Dick Grayson." He was surprised at how much Terry's look of utter incomprehension hurt. Hadn't anyone told this kid about me? I know Bruce isn't Mr. Information, but Babs and Tim should at least- "I used to be Bruce Wayne's ward."

The kid brightened up considerably. Dick worried a bit about Bruce letting someone whose feelings were that transparent carry a secret like Batman.

"So you aren't- well, that's different. Mr. Wayne's not here right now, but if you can stick around long enough, he'll be in eventually. Stops in every day."

Dick felt a bit better. It was a good snow job; if he didn't know better, he'd swear the kid didn't know a thing about the other part of Bruce's life. Newbie was a good actor, even under these conditions. Still, there was one thing he had to know.

"So, New-uh, Terry, did, uh, any of them ever tell you about me? At all?"

Terry snorted.

"Boy, are you asking the wrong person. For all I know, Mr. Wayne could have greeted me every day with, 'you're late, and by the way, I had a ward named Dick Grayson' and I still wouldn't have recognised your name."

He was starting to feel like his stomach was on a rollercoaster, because it sank again.

"Please tell me you don't have amnesia."

"Okay," Terry said with a grin, "I don't have amnesia."

"You're lying, aren't you."

"Like a cheap rug."

"Ah, crap."

"That about sums it up."

Dick looked over at Terry, and the two of them started to laugh. Suddenly, Dick felt like less of an idiot, although he couldn't say why. All he knew for sure was that he was going to like the Newbie.

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To be continued. No, really.


	27. Blessed Protector Overdrive

Well, this wasn't as quick as I'd have liked, but, hey, at least it wasn't another year, right?

Q&A time-

Wolfdaughter- the official story is that Warren McGinnis was killed by Jokerz during a home invasion. Mary suspects there's more to it than that, and that Bruce and Terry know what really happened.

Pivitor- Ivy brought Harley to Catwoman. I meant to put that in, but forgot. Getting Harley out of Gotham would require subtlety, and Ivy knew Catwoman was better at being subtle.

Tigerdrake- That isn't a plot hole. I looked at both scenes very carefully before posting. There is an explanation, but that's for the next chapter. Let's just say it's all about perspective and miscommunication.

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Mad Stan looked up at Charlie "Big Time" Bigelow, and decided that Terry's taste in friends had really improved since Juvy. Max was a hoot, Dana was full of surprises, the Groote kid was showing promise, Chelsea would probably be a good kid once she grew up a bit more, and Jared was rock-solid. And Wayne's crowd was turning out to be a lot more human than he'd given them credit for. But Bigelow, he thought, was one of the biggest wastes of space he'd ever come across- no pun intended.

"So what does Gotham's favorite bomb nut want with me?" Big Time asked.

"I hear you're looking for someone to take out the McGinnis kid."

Big Time grinned.

_Yeah, that's attractive. No wonder you have to pay your women._

"Hey, I didn't know you were for hire. Thought you were strictly for your cause. What kind of rates you lookin' at?"

Stan's smile was more attractive, but also a lot more feral as he revealed the dead man's switch in his hand.

"Your life if you don't call it off."

Big Time gaped at him. The wolf-guy who had been pretending to ignore them while playing vidgames suddenly focused all his attention on Stan's left hand.

"See, what you don't seem to realize, because you never pay attention to the fine details, is that I'm dating the kid's mom. And if something's gonna make her unhappy, I'm gonna stop it. Whatever it takes. And if this isn't enough to convince you, let me drop a few names. Stalker. Ten. Bruce Wayne. Static. Gear. The Clarendon. Kid's got a lot of friends these days. Hell, I heard even Superman stopped by. These are not people you want pissed at you, and you know something? Neither am I. So if I don't hear that the contract's dropped by tomorrow night, I'm gonna find a new hobby. It's called 'make Big Time go Boom'. Ya know, people seem to think that just because I got a habit of lugging grenades around that I'm thicker'n two short planks. But they never stop to ask themselves why Batman never seems to find me until I've already started setting the bombs. Or already set them off. If I was as stupid as people think, would I be able to get into those places undetected? And if I can get into government and industrial buildings without too much trouble, you think I'm gonna have trouble with your twips?"

"Hey-"

"Shut up."

Mad Stan in a temper was -well, fairly normal, actually. But Mad Stan being relatively polite, smiling, and rational was just plain unnerving, which was why he was keeping a lid on his temper despite an intense desire to just toss the overgrown orc a grenade and get it over with.

"As I was saying, I can locate and take out any of your places any time I feel like it. And if I'm in a real bad mood, I might just pass on a few tidbits to those people I mentioned. And the one thing guaranteed to put me in a bad mood right now is making my Mary unhappy. Killing her son would make her very unhappy."

"What about killing you?" Big Time took a step toward him, and he held up the dead man's switch in warning.

"Are you really that dumb? I always figured Terry must have been the brains of the outfit. That what you did? You came up with what you wanted to do and scammed Terry into making the plans? 'Cause everything I've heard about you says the only reason your big-picture plans work is because you get everyone else to fill in the details and then make them think it was all you. Hell, everyone in Gotham knows you only got to take over Major's outfit because you were so busy with your big scheme to bring the kid in that you were one of the few top guns not around when the cops showed up. And none of the others wanted to take over and deal with the headaches. Face it, Charlie, you got this through sheer luck. Think that luck's still holding?"

"You're bluffing. You wouldn't blow yourself up, too."

"Bet your life?"

"Lebowski's not known for bluffing," the wolfman said casually. "That kid really worth the aggravation?"

"But if I back down-"

"Because a guy known for blowing up city blocks because his laundry got ruined is focusing on you? Spike's Law number three- never piss off a crazy with a bomb. They'll figure you're just waiting for him to get fixated on something new before going back to your plan. Won't kill you to wait. Might hurt our profits if we don't. 'Sides, I hear his grandma's working on it anyway. Nice family the kid's got."

Big Time whirled on the wolfman, managing to ignore Mad Stan for a few seconds. Stan blinked, but decided he wanted to hear this, too.

"You mean Brenda McGinnis?" Big Time snarled the name just like Mary and Old Man Wayne did, Stan noticed.

"That's the name. She's been heard spouting off about the kid. Sounds like a real piece of work. I hear she got Wayne arrested after he threw her across a room."

"Wish I'd seen that. Damn. I ever see the old fart again, maybe I should shake his hand. Kinda wanted to do that myself a few times." Big Time turned back to Stan. "Look, if she's causing trouble again, you don't need to worry about me. I hate her a lot more than I want Tiny dead. -Hey, wait a minute! Did I-?"

Big Time dashed over to a computer with an oversized keyboard and started searching for something. Stan and the wolfman looked at each other and shrugged.

"Oh, yeah! And here I thought I was just being a sentimental idiot! Check this out, you two- bet this'll get the old hag in deep!"

Stan and the wolfman exchanged another look-and-shrug, then joined Big Time at the computer. The room was silent as the three read and re-read the message on the screen.

_- she said that if the cops could prove it was the same gang that was _

_chasing me earlier, they'd charge me as an accessory. She said she'd keep _

_her mouth shut about what she knows if I just signed the paper. But if I _

_didn't, she'd tell what she saw and I'd be back in Juvy even though I _

_didn't do anything! And since this was murder, I might even be tried as an _

_adult._

_God, Charlie, Juvy still gives me nightmares. I don't even want to know _

_what it's like in a real jail. And don't think I don't know you haven't _

_told me everything- you always did protect me, even when I didn't need it._

_I signed the paper. I mean, it's just stuff, right? It'll go into storage _

_until Matt's old enough to inherit, and the money will probably put him _

_through college. And after everything I said and did that night, I sure as _

_hell don't deserve any of Dad's stuff. _

_I'm such a coward. I know I didn't kill him, and that I sure as hell _

_didn't set him up, but I really think I'd rather die than go back to jail- _

_even Juvy, even now that I wouldn't be one of the smallest kids there. No _

_joke, Charlie. I can't do that again. I'd rather have a quick death than _

_that again._

"Damn. I forgot-" Big Time shook his head. Stan's teeth were grinding together as he planned various ways of not just killing Brenda McGinnis, but completely obliterating her from the face of the earth. Even the wolfman was looking like he wanted to put his oversized teeth to good use.

"All right." Big Time looked Mad Stan in the eye. "Maybe Tiny- Terry- and I aren't friends now, but we were. And yeah, I probably wouldn't be where I am if he hadn't helped me, even if he didn't mean to. I guess I owe him. Look, he was sixteen when his dad died. I'm no lawyer, but I don't think he could have signed away anything legally. Which means she conned him out of his inheritance. And whatever evidence she was holding over him she probably made up, because I heard it was some of Derek Powers' guys, not Jokerz, who killed his dad. So that's blackmail, too. Bet Old Man Wayne and his fan club could do something with this. Then me and Tiny are even. And I'll let the contract slide. For now. Hell, it was a dumb idea in the first place."

"I ain't arguing." Stan took the disk Charlie gave him. "Gotta ask, though- why do you hate the old trout so much?"

"She got my mom fired. Nothing to do with Terry, not that it stopped him from trying to blame himself. He still do that- never mind. Anyway, that's why I started stealing, to get money for food. Mom died while I was in jail. Cancer. Some psychologist would get rich out of figuring out why I blame the hag, but I do. End of story."

"Makes sense to me."

Big Time didn't look too pleased with that statement, and Stan took that as the perfect moment to leave. As he strolled through the park, he dropped the dead man's switch in a trash can, wondering where people got the idea that he didn't bluff.

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Selina, Harley, and Nathan the Nosy Neighbour (as the two women had silently christened him) had had far too easy a job of it. The security system was a joke as far as Selina was concerned, and the house was anal-retentively tidy. In all, it took them less than half an hour to find just what they needed. It took less than ten minutes to copy the necessary files and mail three copies- one to Commissioner Gordon, one to Bruce Wayne, and one to Mary McGinnis. A fourth set was left in place of the originals, which Selina placed in her bag. She wasn't going to take the chance that one of the senior McGinnises would have a moment of common sense and destroy the incriminating evidence. Not that she thought they would; if they'd had any common sense they'd have destroyed the files in the first place. Instead, they'd left clear-cut evidence of endangering the welfare of a minor, fraud, falsification of evidence, and blackmail. Not to mention bribery. Selina did not want to be around when Bruce learned that Brenda McGinnis had bribed the judge at Terry's trial to give him a heavier sentence than the usual thirty days. Or when he learned that the Old Trout had bribed guards to beat the boy, then place him in solitary confinement as a "troublemaker".

As they read the documents back at Nathan's house, Selina found herself flexing her hands as though she was still wearing her old claws. Harley was running out of names and curses, and Nathan was turning an unhealthy shade of red.

"What I want to know," Selina said in an eerily calm voice, "is exactly how this woman has stayed out of jail, much less New Arkham."

"Money and connections," Nathan growled. "They know a lot of people, and they know what buttons to push. And they can afford to push a lot of buttons. Brenda was a Wigglesworth, and Stephen may be nouveau riche, but that's still money. Not that any of Warren's family ever saw any of it. Cut him off without a dime when he married a Southie Irish girl. Not that he cared about the money, I'll give him that. But still, this is just- God."

"Now, what would Puddin' do," Harley mused.

"Harley."

"Sorry, Ca- um, Selina."

"Now, Eddie, on the other hand..."

"Riddle me this, Catty- what do you think would happen if these just happened to show up at Mad Stan's place. He's dating Terry's Mom."

Nathan made a strangled noise. Selina just stared.

"You didn't mention that."

"I forgot."

"Mary McGinnis is dating Mad Stan," Nathan said.

"Yeah."

"I wonder if Brenda knows. I hope not. Because I want to be there when she finds out."

"Why?" Selina and Harley chorused.

"Because as far as she's concerned, Matt McGinnis is her first grandson. I was out pruning the roses when Warren stormed in and announced for the entire block to hear that the DNA tests were back, proving conclusively that Matt was his son, and that if she didn't like it- well, let's just say I didn't know the guy knew that sort of language. Anyway, imagine how she'd react on learning that her oldest grandson was looking up to Mad Stan as his new father?"

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A soft noise woke Terry up, but he decided not to open his eyes this time. He'd enjoyed his conversation with Grayson, but he really did want just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep!

"I'm just saying that it doesn't seem right. All the advances in medical technology-"

"Well, gosh, Mary Sue, I know you'd love to just swoop in, save the day, and have everybody fall madly in love with you, but unfortunately it just doesn't work that way." The sarcastic voice paused for a moment. "I'm not going to have to give you the 'Doctors Aren't Gods' speech, am I? "Cause I gotta tell you, I _re-heeeealllly_ hate that one. You just can't deliver it without sounding like either a pretentious jackass or a complete sap. Now, any good doctor can do pretentious when he absolutely has to, but I don't do sap. Got it, Newbie?"

Terry struggled not to react. He loved it when these two were on rotation; they were better than anything on TV.

"Okay, okay. I just-"

"I know what you just. And I can't say you're entirely in the wrong, much as I'd love to. But it just ain't that easy. Get used to it. Actually, don't. Keep trying to make it that easy. Just don't be disappointed when it isn't. And now, since you seem to have a special rapport with coma patients- or at least their families-"

"Hey!"

"-here's a picture I want you to look at. You see this woman anywhere in the hospital, you stay the hell away from her and call security immediately. Better yet, sic that freaky janitor friend of yours on her. Ah, hell, Newbie, knock yourself out- do both. Just make sure she doesn't get anywhere near this room."

"Who is she?"

"A psycho. And possibly his grandmother, though there seems to be some doubts about that. If he's lucky, she isn't. Heard about the fish-lady yet?"

"Yeah, Turk told- her?"

"Nah, she's the one who got smacked. Ah, Clarice, it was a thing of beauty. If the fish-woman wasn't even scarier-looking than Jordan when she first wakes up, not to mention older than God, I'd marry her."

"Ignoring the fact that you're married already."

"Ah, Gretchen, if only I could."

Terry snickered. He couldn't help it.

"He's awake!"

"Very good, Newbie! Amazing how quickly you pick up on the obvious. Eavesdropping, kid?"

Terry opened his eyes to see a fuming doctor and a bemused resident staring at him.

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "You two always dial it down if you think I'm awake and it's nowhere near as much fun. I need my dinner theater."

The doctor grinned at him.

"Not bad, kid. Now try being that tactless to that old harridan if she shows up again and makes it through security. I'm cutting you some slack, 'cause, hey, amnesia, but next time? If she's not writhing on the floor in agony, I'll be very disappointed in you. You don't want to see me disappointed- does he, Chantelle?"

"Um, isn't that a kind of mushroom?"

Terry stifled a laugh as the doctor swung into another rant. This doctor could be incredibly caustic, as Mr. Wayne had already learned, but the fact that he was showing a picture of Brenda McGinnis and warning people about her was strangely heart-warming. Terry didn't like needing protection; he was already discovering a streak of pig-headed independence. Still, it felt good that so many people were jumping to provide it. It went a long way towards dispelling more of the depression brought on by Her attack. After all, if people like Mr. Wayne and Dr. Cox thought he was worth something, then the opinion of some crazy woman he'd be just as happy never to see again shouldn't matter.

He drifted back off to sleep to the somewhat less than musical tones of Cox's rant, smiling.


	28. Everything's Going So Well?

Okay, starting with the obvious: lots of people have pointed out "Bruce-is-Terry's-father" thing. It's true, I haven't seen that episode of JL, but in this case, it doesn't matter because this story began before that episode aired, and I wasn't about to go back and rewrite everything just to take that into account. So consider this an AU. Some of my other stories will be similarly AU, because I laid the foundations before that episode existed. Some can be reworked to take that into account, but for some, especially this one, it just can't happen. And when I do take it into account, my descriptions of the grown-up Terry will actually look like the Terry from the original show, not the steroid-abuse posterboy from JL. (I've seen screencaps. What the hell were they thinking? Wrong body-type, wrong hair, even the lips were wrong? Seriously, guys, WTF? It's like expecting Daniel Radcliffe to grow up into Sylvester Stallone.) Okay, rant over. Anyway, because of the timing, let's just say this only takes into account up to ROTJ, then goes AU.

Jess S1- Okay, I admit it, I giggled and wished I'd thought of it.

Aya- How can you not love a town with MacBeans, Bull Moose, and The Great Impasta? And I am dying to know how the Tontine Mall got its name!

Miss L. Anyus- You have no idea how many times I have refrained from making that joke because it would make the scene go places it shouldn't at the time.

Wandering Racoon- Now that's a compliment. Imitation and all that. I suppose I should get all sniffy and whine about character theft, but that would be a bit much coming from a fanfic writer, no? ;) And, yeah, some of the hospital stuff is from personal experience, from both sides of the bed.

I am not giving up on this. I hate people who leave stories unfinished, and I refuse to be one of them. It may take me a while, but I will finish this. I've got the next two chapters mostly plotted; part of the delay was in figuring out how to get from last chapter to next chapter. I knew where points A, C, and D were, but I couldn't find point B! But the next two chapters will wrap up the Old Trout storyline, and then- well, don't want to give away too much, do I?

Bruce's opinion of Mary was unchanged: the woman was a brilliant inventor, but she couldn't plan a pizza run. Not that he disapproved of her suggestions for handling Brenda McGinnis, but not a single one of them had even the remotest possibilty of working. The plan involving a retired space shuttle and several tons of wasabi was original, amusing, and completely impractical, and that was one of her saner ideas. The plan involving the squid would probably give him nightmares.

To be fair, she hadn't really been serious about any of those plans; the last half hour she had been blowing off stream. At least, Bruce hoped she was. But her most recent suggestion had been less bizarre, if still unworkable.

"Mary."

She broke off from describing a plan that seemed to involve a traveling kabuki troupe and blinked at him.

"There's still one thing that needs explaining. Why, if you know what Brenda McGinnis is, did you believe her version of what happened that Christmas over Terry's?"

She winced.

"It's complicated."

"Try me."

"She always made a big deal about Christmas being a time of peace, especially within the family. She never said anything directly to either me or Terry on Christmas- in fact, she'd pretty much ignore us completely. Warren used to get furious about that, but it was better than when she wasn't ignoring us. It just never occurred to me that she'd actually acknowledge his presence on Christmas after all these years. And as for Terry lying to me, well, the last few months before he went to Juvy were pretty bad. I didn't mean to imply I'd believe Her over Terry, but as soon as I opened my mouth I knew it had sounded that way. I really did apologize for a week for that- I'm glad he remembered that part, if he had to remember any of it. It was a stupid thing to say in the first place."

Bruce kept his mouth shut. He agreed with her, but saying so would be a Bad Idea.

The doorbell rang, causing both of them to break their chains of thought. It was Barbara, looking positively smug.

"Sometimes I really love my job," she said as she entered. "And sometimes anonymous informants are a wonderful thing. Especially when you know perfectly well who they are and have no proof, so they can't be discredited in court."

Bruce frowned, wondering just which of their new temporary allies had gotten clever.

"Is an arrest likely?" he asked, not quite sure he wanted to know. Barbara's responding grin was positively feline.

"Oh, yes," she purred, "I think Brenda McGinnis and her husband are definitely looking at jail time, and I think we may even be able to get that bigoted jackass Turpin to boot."

Bruce actually blinked, and Mary gasped. DeShawn Turpin had been the judge at Terry's trial (and Terry had made more than a few jokes about Judge Turpin), and the man had a reputation for giving white offenders much harsher sentences than black offenders. It was an awkward situation for the city's civil rights activists, and the local chapter of the NAACP had very visibly disassociated themselves from him. Aside from him being openly bigoted, many people had suspected for years that the man's judgement was for sale. Bruce had met him once or twice and had no use for the man; even less after the man had accused him of being racist for not wishing to talk with the self-centered blowhard. Lucius Fox, who had been standing right there, had laughed in the man's face.

"So they did bribe him," Mary and Bruce chorused, then looked at each other.

"Oh, you thought so, too?" Mary enquired.

"Well, the sentence was a bit harsh for a first conviction, especially since it wasn't a violent crime and nobody resited arrest. Although I must admit that before I met That Woman, I had just chalked it up to Turpin being Turpin. Will the evidence stand up in court, Barbara?"

"I've already shown it to Sam, and he's positively salivating. He can't stand the man, either, for personal and professional reasons. Did I ever tell you Sam called him the death knell of affirmative action?"

"No, but I'm not surprised." Bruce could just imagine what Turpin would have had to say about Barbara and Sam's marriage, and while Sam was basically easy-going, Bruce knew the man had more backbone than any DA in Gotham's history and little patience with unthinking rhetoric.

"And there's more," Barbara continued, her eyes glittering. "Only Brenda is implicated in bribing the judge and the guards at Juvy, along with a few other unpleasant stunts over the years- and that annoying little weasel Nakamura will be answering a few questions about his association with her."

"Nakamura- as in Principal Nakamura." Bruce wasn't surprised; Nakamura was the worst type of petty bureaucrat, and was easily influenced or intimidated by anybody with money or power. He had even tried to prevent Terry from marching in the Graduation exercises, but Bruce had had words with him.

"Yep. Doesn't look like he accepted anything from her, but she made a comment about them thinking along similar lines when it came to dealing with the bad element, and what an unexpected pleasure it had been to speak with him. There are also repeated references to him being invited to dinner. I know the weasel never did anything overt and didn't have either the brains or the backbone to try anything sneaky, but even the appearance of a connection between the two won't look good. But that still isn't the high point."

"What did the old bitch do, already," Mary snapped. Barbara ignored that; Bruce could almost see her reminding herself that Mary was under a lot of stress lately.

"Did you know that Warren had a trust fund that should have gone to Terry? And that he had written a will dividing his estate equally between Terry and Matt?"

Bruce looked at Mary. Mary looked at Bruce.

"I knew Warren had a trust fund that he never touched," Mary said slowly, "but I must admit I've never quite understood how they worked. When the lawyers said he'd died intestate, I just assumed that everything reverted to those two, since we were divorced. Warren always handled that sort of thing, because I've always been embarrassingly bad- I mean 1950-sitcom-wife-bad- at financial stuff. Calculus, sure. Trigonometry, whatever. But ask me to fill out a tax form and I'm lost. They pulled something, didn't they."

"They got Terry to sign a form stating that he relinquished all claims on Warren McGinnis' estate, and they did this by claiming to have evidence connecting him to the Jokerz who killed Warren. They also bribed the lawyers to 'lose' Warren's will. And I have in my possession documents stating that both Brenda and Stephen were involved."

There was a stunned silence.

"Terry couldn't have legally signed any such documents when his father died." The only evidence of Bruce's raging temper was the whiteness of his knuckles as he clutched the handle of his cane.

"Exactly."

"And he hasn't seen them since his father's funeral."

Barbara's eyes narrowed.

"That I didn't know. You don't think-"

"_I do._"

Bruce and Barbara turned to look at Mary. They looked at each other. Each had one thought: _Keep Mary here while we arrest those two unless we want them jailed posthumously._

Bruce squashed the little voice that wondered if maybe telling Mad Stan about this first wouldn't be more satisfying. He also squashed the little voice that suggested he take care of matters personally. No, it was best to let Barbara handle this. For one thing, it couldn't be looked at as his pursuing a personal vendetta. For another, by letting this go through official channels, it guaranteed that That Woman's over-dramatized scheming would be made public. He wasn't looking forward to the new burst of publicity it would bring, but it would help Terry in the long run. A young man with a record was one thing; a young man who had managed to survive the scheming of an abusive, manipulative relative and make something of his life was something else.

He never liked letting others run the show, but he knew that sometimes, it just had to happen that way.

******************************************

The relative quiet of the afternoon was broken by a swarm of police cars pulling up in front of a prosperous-looking house set back from the curb in an expensively-landscaped yard. Next door, a gruff man with a shock of iron-grey hair sat on his porch with a pair of eminently respectable elderly ladies, sipping tea.

"Shocking, isn't it," the man said. "And in such a respectable neighbourhood. What is the world coming to?"

"Absolutely scandalous," the elegant green-eyed lady replied in a purring voice. Her dowdier companion giggled.

"Yeah, ya just can't trust nobody these days, not even a sweet old lady."

The three exchanged self-satisfied looks, which turned into smirks as a bald man was led out in cuffs, sputtering. The smirks faded as they realised that the man was not being followed by a certain embittered harridan.

"Where is she?"

A taxi eased its way around the assembled cars, slowed, then picked up speed again. Harley jumped to her feet with a shriek.

_**"THAT WAS HER IN THE TAXI!!! GET HER, YA TWITS!!!"**_

Some of the officers froze, and some turned to look at her. Only one actually ran for her car to give chase. Selina, Nathan, and Harley watched her take off, knowing she was too late. Nathan pounded his fist on the porch railing.

"Dammit, _Dammit, __**Dammit!**_ Is that woman boffing a demon or something? How the hell does she manage that kind of luck?"

"I don't know," Selina seethed, "but I know one way to put a stop to it, and I'm calling in a favor now. Nathan, thank you for your help. Harley, I'll drop you off. If this works out, I'll be sure to tell you. If not, you'll probably see it on the evening news."

She didn't say another word about what she was up to. Instead, she dropped off Harley as promised, then headed to an older, more well-preserved section of town. She parked in front of an impressive brownstone and let herself in. The physical locks were still no obstacle, and the other kind let her pass. As she reached the top of the stairs to the second floor, a man stepped out to greet her.

"Selina, it's been a while."

"Yes, it has. And I apologise for that, and for the fact that my first visit in years is to call in a favor."

Jason Blood looked at her evenly for a moment, then nodded.

"All right. What do you need?"

******************************************

**To be continued- no, seriously.**


	29. And Then It All Went Horribly Wrong

Even though I knew where this chapter was going, it was still hard to write. You'll understand why when you read it. And as I commented in my note on my other WIP, I have time to write now. I hope to get both stories done by the end of the summer, but we'll see how that goes.

Weather Marmalade- Yeah, I know. I think I'll wait until I've got the story finished, then just do it all at once. My internet access is spotty at the moment, and I want to spend the time I've got getting back up to speed.

manzanita- Mad Stan and the Janitor... now why didn't I think of that? Although I do have a part for the Janitor to play in this chapter...

And I was going to answer more comments, then realised that would be a chapter all its own, so here's the story instead.

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Jason frowned as Selina finished her story. He'd heard similar tales throughout his life, and it never failed to depress him.

**Sins of a parent rebound on the child;**

**The innocent suffer for naught.**

**'Tis a fact to which you should be long reconciled,**

**And at least this beldam has been caught.**

_Shut up, Etrigan. She isn't caught yet._

**A matter of time**

**And of manpower too,**

**Such tawdry crime**

**Is not in your purview.**

"Etrigan being mouthy?"

"Is he ever not?"

"Point taken. Jason, I know this isn't your thing, but this woman has the most obscene luck, and I'd like to make sure that's all it is. Because if that is all it is, well, luck runs out. But she's deranged enough that she might have drawn the attention of something... else."

"Do you honestly think she has?"

"Honestly? No. But the only other alternative I have is to take her out personally, and that would be a bit hard to explain."

Jason couldn't argue that.

"All right, Selina, I'll do some scrying at least. If she is drawing something's attention, I'll do something about it. If not, we can at least find out where she is and what she's up to. Any health problems I should know about before I cast the spell?"

"Nothing. Not even arthritis."

"All right, then."

The spell was an easy one, and the answer came quickly; Brenda McGinnis was many things, most of which were unpleasant, but she had no connection to the demon worlds that Jason could detect. He could sense that some demons were watching her, but not as a potential convert. No, it was more along the lines of reality tv for them. Disturbing, perhaps, but not something he needed to deal with. He told Selina as much, and she shrugged.

"It was worth a shot. But you have located her?"

"Yes, that was even easier. Unfortunately, she's in a stairwell right now, which doesn't tell me much. Here, take a look for yourself."

Selina looked, and they both watched in horror as events unfolded.

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"GOD _FUCKING _DAMMIT!!!"

Barbara Gordon snapped her phone shut hard enough to make it chirp.

"She got away," Bruce growled.

"Yes. We've got an APB out already, and she is to be considered extremely dangerous. I have to get back, but somebody should tell Terry what's going on."

"Of course. I'd intended to. Mary?"

Mary smiled sheepishly.

"I'm supposed to be meeting Stan in half an hour; I'm sure he'll understand, though. You go ahead, and I'll meet you there. And, yes, I am chickening out of being there for the explanation."

Bruce gave her an exasperated look, but he had to admit that he would rather handle this himself. Mary was in an awkward situation, and it really wouldn't do for her to be gloating about Brenda's downfall in front of Terry. Even if it was deserved. But that wasn't what mattered- what mattered was that this mess was finally being wrapped up, and by the end of the night they should all be able to relax a little.

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Dalrymple sighed as he made his way toward his rooms. It had been a long day and he had to admit that he wasn't as fit as he used to be.

_You are getting old, Tobias. No, you _are_ old. Perhaps it is time you retired and moved in with Amadea, as she continually urges. God knows I have been little use to anybody of late, and I do not know that I have the strength to face another Gotham winter spent mostly on the streets. But I also do not know if I could find such inspiration for my poems in such a pastoral setting. I do love visiting there, but my writing always suffers when I do, and without my writing, I would go as mad as many people already believe me to be. But perhaps..._

He sighed again.

"_How dull it is to pause, to make an end,_

_To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!_

_As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life_

_Were all too little, and of one to me_

_Little remains: but every hour is saved_

_From the eternal silence, something more,_

_A bringer of new things: and vile it were_

_For some three suns to store and hoard myself,_

_And this gray spirit yearning in desire_

_To follow knowledge, like a sinking star,_

_Beyond the utmost bound of human thought._"

"Well, aren't you just a happy bag of joy today," Marleigh Dantriss quipped. Dalrymple smiled at her.

"I am old, my friend."

"And your point? Remember, you're talking to a woman whose mother is eighty-five and still climbs mountains."

"Your mother is a remarkable woman."

"True. So what's got you glooming around spouting Tennyson?

"I learned today that Nadia froze to death in the park a few nights back, when the temperature dropped so precipitously."

"I'm sorry." Marleigh leaned against the wall, blocking his way. "She was the woman in _Brightness Falls_, wasn't she? You told her story well."

"And now she is dead because she was so afraid that her husband would find her that she refused to take the shelter that was available. I try to tell their stories so that maybe somehow someone will give a damn, and that just one of them will be all right."

"One of them is. Well, maybe not all right, but he's in a lot better shape than he was when you wrote _Out of Shadow_. That was the McGinnis kid, right? And he's doing fine, isn't he?"

"They arrested his grandfather today, but his demented harridan of a paternal forebear remains at large."

"Oh."

"And I have a terrible feeling that she has not finished venting her malice, yet I find that nobody else, not even the normally canny Mr. Wayne, seems to share my apprehension. He feels that her arrogance will trip her up in short order, but I fear that she may have realised that her machinations have finally been uncovered and that she now has nothing left to lose."

Marleigh's dark eyes bore into his, then she nodded sharply and turned to go.

"Well, I'll just make a few calls and see what I can come up with. Oh, and Tobias?"

"Yes?"

"_Though much is taken, much abides; and tho'_

_We are not that strength which in old days_

_Moved earth and heaven; that which we are we are;_

_One equal temper of heroic hearts,_

_Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will_

_To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."_

She vanished around a corner while Dalrymple stood blinking after her. Finally he gave a soft laugh, shook his head, and walked the last few steps to his rooms. As he shut the door behind him, he realised that he was not alone. Hitting the lights, he was not as surprised as he should have been to see a tall, slim brunette who bore a striking resemblance to a certain Immortal thief, and that she had a gun. Dalrymple drew himself up to his full height and faced her without blinking.

..._and not to yield._

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"So, Dana, now that the old hag is as good as caught, feel like partying?"

Dana laughed.

"Maybe when she's actually in jail, Chels. Jumping the gun much?"

"Hey, why not? Even my dad couldn't stand her!"

"To know her is to loathe her," Dana giggled. Max had called with the news less than an hour ago, and Dana was still giddy. She started whistling "Schadenfreude", and after a few seconds, Chelsea cracked up.

"Dana, that's just mean! And you know that all these poor innocent bystanders think we're nuts, don't you?"

"Honey, this is Gotham- that's not even a blip on the radar," a six-foot six transvestite in a white satin ballgown laughed. They grinned at him and kept going. Like he said, this was Gotham, and he was a regular sight outside that club. As they walked, they kept grinning.

"God, Chelsea, I don't believe it! A few weeks ago everything was just awful, and now it's all turned around! It's like the end of a cheesy vid, you know?"

"Uh, Dana?"

Dana had gotten a few steps ahead, but the sudden tremor in her friend's voice had her spinning around. A burly man with a gun had stepped out of an alleyway, and was motioning them in. She thought about running, or fighting, or fainting, but in the end she did as ordered.

"Purses, jewelry, anything you got," he said. "I just want your money, I don't care about anything else."

Dana believed him, but it didn't make her feel better. They tumbled everything they had into their bags, practically throwing them at the man. He caught them both easily with his free hand, then cocked his head at them.

"Sorry, girls, nothing personal."

A shot, and Chelsea slammed back into the wall. Another, and then nothing.

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Zeta waited, concerned. In less than an hour, he was to visit Big Time. He had tried to contact Mr. Wayne, but he could not reach him. This was most unnerving, as Mr. Wayne was as reliable as a human could get. Zeta ran through a number of likely scenarios, factoring in an unsupervised visit or obeying his instructions for each possibility. The scenarios in which he disobeyed ended badly. So did some in which he waited, but at least in those he did not have to face an enraged Bruce Wayne on top of everything else. It was not a situation that any rational entity could face with equanimity.

He heard gunshots, and immediately assessed their most likely point of origin. It took less than five minutes to arrive, but by then he knew the perpetrator would probably be long gone. Still, he had to check.

The alley was dark and narrow, making it difficult find anyone. Zeta was forced to use his heat sensors to locate the object of his search.

"Oh, no."

He patched himself through to 911 as he approached the two fallen girls.

"This is Batman. There's been a mugging in the alley off West 32nd street north of Gregson Ave, between Gotham Savings Bank and Donato's. Two GSWs, both females, both 18 years of age, both critical. No sign of the assailant. I'm doing what I can, but I'm not sure they'll make it."

He suited actions to words, trying to stem the flow of blood coming from both bodies.

"_Batman, there should be someone there in five to ten."_

"Thank you."

He added a faint tremor to the voice, sensing it would be appropriate. He didn't have emotions as such, not as humans understood them, but something was telling him that this was not right. He knew these two girls; he'd had them in his class when he'd been passing as a teacher at Hamilton Hill High, and had interacted with them briefly during his impersonation of Max. They had seemed nice enough, and he knew that both Max and Terry would be very upset if either died. Unfortunately, he did not think he could prevent it.

"You have to live," he told them as he worked. "I don't know if Terry can handle another shock."

Footsteps approached, and he stiffened. He heard the sirens approaching, but they were still several blocks away. Whoever this was, it wasn't a paramedic.

"Zeta."

The synthoid froze for a millisecond. He certainly knew that voice.

"Agent Bennet."

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Mary approached the coffeehouse worriedly. She hadn't been able to get through to Stan, so she had called Bruce to explain. She'd heard the sigh he thought he'd stifled, but he had agreed that just ditching Stan wouldn't do.

"Hey, hon, what's wrong? I tried to call you earlier, but my phone died."

"Oh, thank God," Mary sighed. "I thought it might be something like that, but, well..."

Stan smiled down at her. He was such a sweet man, and Mary hated to worry him, but he had to know what was happening. She explained hurriedly, and to her surprise saw something dangerous in her partner's face.

"Nothing wrong that a little C4 couldn't cure," he snarled. Mary had to smile.

"Well, that's probably more practical than any of my ideas, even if it isn't as elegant."

"I'll wear a tux."

Mary laughed. His deadpan was absolutely perfect; she could almost believe he meant it.

"And that's why I love you."

_Oh, he's blushing- that's so sweet._

"You're going down, Lebowski!"

_And that isn't._

She wouldn't have thought there were enough Jokerz left in Gotham to form a gang that big, but they were definitely surrounded.

_And this is why I hate Gotham._

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Terry never saw it coming. One minute he was trading cracks with JD, the next minute JD was in a twitching heap on the floor and Brenda McGinnis was pointing the taser at him, her eyes devoid of even the minimal sanity she'd had.

"You filthy little bastard, I should have done this years ago, before you ruined everything."

He tried to move, but he just wasn't in any shape to be dodging delusional psychotics. The taser connected, and all Terry knew was pain. He couldn't even tell if he was screaming or not. Then it stopped.

Terry forced his eyes open to see JD struggling with Brenda, desperately trying to get the taser away from her without getting hit again. He finally succeeded with a shout and hurled it out of the room. Unfortunately, that meant taking his attention off the crazy person. Terry tried to give a shout of his own, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper that JD never heard before Brenda clocked him with a chair.

_I'm going to die. After everything I've survived, I'm going to be killed by a grandmother._

Brenda advanced on him again, and again Terry tried to do more than his wrecked body would allow. The last thing he saw was the pillow coming down over his face.

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Bruce grimaced when he saw who was waiting for him. He had to respect Dr. Cox, but the man grated. He was good at what he did, and at heart he was a good man, but it had been a long time since Bruce had met anyone who could give him lessons in being caustic.

"Hey! Old Guy! They catch the Queen of Crazy yet?"

"No. She was out when they arrested her husband, and when she saw what was going on, she bolted."

"Dammit! That's it, no more doughnuts for the cops! You hear me, people? Any cop that comes through these doors gets a stern lesson on fitness, and possibly a diet and exercise program specifically designed for lard-ass morons. I want no more reports of them getting outrun by little old ladies, do I make myself clear?"

"Um, do you mean that literally, or are you just being yourself?" a blonde doctor asked.

"What do you think, Barbie?"

"Um, well, I-"

"And today's lesson is on the rhetorical question. I-"

An alarm went off. Bruce looked at the board, as did everyone else.

It was Terry's room.

Bruce hadn't realised he could still run, and he knew he would regret it later- but he had a sick feeling that he would regret not running even more. Dr. Cox outpaced him easily, and a giant of a man in a janitor's uniform was approaching just as quickly from the opposite direction. Dr. Cox reached the room a few steps ahead of them, paused at the threshold, and dove in with a roar of fury. Bruce and the janitor hit the door together, just in time to see Dr. Dorian in a heap on the floor with blood seeping from his head and Dr. Cox ripping Brenda McGinnis away from Terry's bedside, flinging away the pillow she'd been pressing down at the same time. Brenda screamed and dove for him, but Bruce surged forward. Catching her arm, he spun her around and buried his fist in her face. She was thrown back toward the janitor, who quickly put his hands behind his back. She bounced off his broad chest and collapsed, unconscious. The janitor cocked his head, looking down at her.

"Oops," he said.

"Ah, no. No, no, no.Don't do this, kid."

Bruce's head snapped around, the savage satisfaction of a moment before giving way to fear. Dr. Cox was climbing up onto the bed, ripping open Terry's pajama top. A slew of medical personnel erupted into the room, flowing around him and rushing toward either the bed or their fallen colleague. The voices seem to ebb and flow around him, and he couldn't move, couldn't think... couldn't breathe. His chest felt like it was in a vice. It didn't feel like his previous heart attacks, a small part of his mind realised, but he couldn't think what else it could be. Either way, he couldn't have it here. He couldn't pull the doctors away from Terry.

"Hey, you aren't okay, are you?" The janitor's alarmed face seemed to be at the end of a long tunnel. Bruce wanted to tell him to get him out of there, but he couldn't speak, either. And then he couldn't see him anymore, and he was dimly aware of the man yelling before everything just went away.

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Up next- who dies?


	30. Fallout

I'd quote the musical _Parade_ and start singing "This is not over yet…", but considering the context of that particular number, I don't think it's a good idea. (The guy who starts the number gets executed by a mob for a murder he didn't commit. Considering how my luck has been running, I really don't want to taunt Murphy like that.)

I'm having to recreate some of my stories from scratch; my old laptop decided to start crapping out on me and crashed multiple times, causing me to lose several files. One story (not from this fandom) had all but one chapter completely vanish along with all the notes, and the backup got eaten as well. I have a new laptop now. Also, there was a recurring medical issue that literally affected my ability to think for over a year; during bouts of it I could barely maintain a coherent conversation, and focusing long enough to write _anything_ just wasn't happening. Think of how you feel when you've just pulled an all-nighter on a project, and imagine feeling like that for up to a week at a time combined with severe dizziness and a bit of nausea. I actually scared my professors enough that they told me not to worry about the attendance requirements, and they were very generous in grading assignments. (Well, except for one, and she was so annoying and pretentious that I dropped the class anyway.) And these were happening at the same time. You can understand why taunting Murphy is not high of my list of things to do now that I've got all that dealt with.

I make no apologies for Mad Stan in this chapter. I have learned to never be surprised by the random stuff people are into that seems completely OOC for them. After all, if a devout Southern Baptist can be into the Ramones and Bill Clinton and Anthony Bourdain can be bronies, well, this ain't nothing.

**Wingless Night- ** "I'll have three Life Sucks, with a chocolate shake and some fries, oh, and can I have a small order of Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies?" You may have come up with my new favorite line. It's right up there with "I'd shake your hand, but there's a venomous cobra in it." Or "Nothing says Mother's Love like a giant robotic platypus butt." Possibly even "Time to de-ass the area with the quickness."

Dalrymple faced the gun-wielding brunette calmly. Someone needed to remain calm; the girl looked as though she was on the verge of a panic attack. Her hands were visibly shaking, there were tears streaming down her face, and her eyes were wide enough to make an anime girl jealous. At the moment, she was more likely to kill him by accident than out of deliberate malice- although her lack of intent wouldn't be of any help to him then.

"Miss Tina Curtis, I believe. Perhaps it would be best if you laid aside the firearm in order to facilitate a reasonable discussion?"

The girl jumped, squeaked, and dropped the gun. Dalrymple quickly moved in the opposite direction, but the gun didn't go off. Upon retrieving it while Miss Curtis began to hyperventilate, he discovered that not only was the safety on, but there was not even a round in the chamber. Either she knew little about guns, or she had not wanted to risk shooting the wrong person; he desperately hoped it was the second.

It took a few minutes to calm Miss Curtis down. This wasn't the first time that Dalrymple had dealt with high-strung individuals, however, and he had a good supply of patience anyway. He sat her down on the bed, then sat beside her, rubbing her back gently. After several minutes, she turned to face him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, child. Was the gun really necessary?"

She nodded.

"Some of my brother's friends think they'll get away if I'm dead. I can identify half a dozen Jokerz who were there, and now that I know what really happened that night, I can at least make an educated guess at some others. I tried to stay out of that world, but Joe was my brother; I couldn't help learning stuff I really didn't want to know. I should have just cut him out- I kept telling myself to do it—but he was my brother!"

Dalrymple forced himself not to frown as he thought. It hadn't occurred to him that Miss Curtis might have been an innocent bystander despite her connection to the late unlamented J-Man. Of course, she could be lying, but he didn't think so; he had spent too long on the streets to be easily fooled by tears and a sad story.

"He told me it was a surprise birthday party," she continued. "I was visiting for the weekend, and Joe asked me if I could get this guy to the Alhambra. I kinda remembered the kid, 'because he always seemed like he was too nice when that asshole Charlie Bigelow wasn't messing with his head. Well, a bit of a hothead, but basically a nice kid. I heard he got arrested, but that was about the time I was getting ready to move to Chicago to start at Northwestern, so I don't really know if that happened or if it was somebody else I'm thinking of. But Joe said it was the guy's 18th birthday and he wanted to throw a surprise party, but he needed someone to bring the guy to the ballroom at the Alhambra- you know, that old abandoned hotel, I think the story was it was built just before the Great Depression started? It looks about that age, anyway. I know there's a lot of squatters living there, and the old ballroom is pretty popular for parties that you don't want outsiders to see. I didn't think anything about it, because Joe used to do stuff like that before he got into the Jokerz, and I was hoping it meant he was finally growing up and getting back to the guy he used to be, but I guess I really should have known better." For the first time, she looked angry, and at least half of it was directed inward. "He told me that the guy usually shopped at Kamalic's, so I should wait and try to catch him there, and to text him when he showed up. So I waited, and when the guy showed up, I did exactly what my brother wanted. I told him that I was staying in the Alhambra and had managed to lock myself out of my room, and was he still good with locks? Because that was the other thing I remembered about him—he was supposed to be really good with locks. Even Joe admitted that. The guy wasn't too thrilled, but he said okay. He left his groceries there, which I thought was kinda weird, but then I saw you and figured that you'd keep an eye on them until he got back. I know who you are, pretty much everybody around here does, and I grew up three blocks away. Anyway, I got him to the Alhambra, told him I'd stashed my stuff in the old ballroom for safekeeping, then as soon as I got him in, I gave him a big kiss, wished him a happy birthday, then took off to the library to work on a project for my seismology class. I headed back home early the next morning without seeing Joe again, and jumped back into my classes. We don't hear a lot of Gotham news in Chicago, so I didn't know anything until I got back here on Wednesday and Joe gave me this gun and told me I had to hide because—well, he gave me this ridiculous reason, but it was so obviously a lie that I—I mean, I know the Jokerz and the Ts have been feuding forever, but Alex or whatever he's calling himself these days, the leader of the Ts, his sister and I were lab partners in chemistry and I helped her get an A, so he always said I was off limits. I got mad at Joe and went off at him, then he told me I was an accomplice or an accessory or something and told me what he really did and- _what the hell happened to him? He wasn't always like that!"_

She burst into tears, and Dalrymple simply sat and held her. He couldn't think how she hadn't been found if she'd been registered as a student in such a well-known university, or why she hadn't just gone to the police once she knew what had happened.

_Don't be a fool, Tobias. Her brother is__—was-__ one of the most well-known of the Jokerz, and if she is in fact a student and trying to disassociate from her brother and his nefarious activities, then learning that he had used her for such an atrocious crime would have been that much more of a shock. Add to that her brother's violent death the other day and apparently being threatened by his confederates, and she can hardly be blamed for her precarious emotional state or for making some unwise decisions._

"My dear, you have had a miserable few days, but surely you must see that the best thing to do is go to the police and tell them what you know. I can verify that he went willingly, and that at no time did he act as though you had threatened him. The, er, unfortunate incident with the gun need not be mentioned, since I am sure you did not intend to shoot me."

"What? No!" The idea shocked her out of crying. "I was just worried that maybe it was one of those psychos—I've been dodging them since I left Joe's apartment Wednesday night. I don't want to think he sent them after me, but he was so out of control—he said he'd kill me himself if I even thought about going to the cops. Could—could you maybe call them and ask them to come here? I know I don't have any right to ask any favors, but cops come to the Clarendon all the time, so nobody'll think twice, and maybe I can tell them my story before I get killed too. They wouldn't dare come after you, 'cause there's more homeless people than there are Jokerz and they call you their Patron Saint and everybody remembers what happened that time you were almost killed by that stupid drunk driver. They almost eviscerated the jerk, not that he didn't deserve it. Anyway, I really want to do the right thing, but I can't help anybody if I'm dead, so I'm trying to be careful. I just don't know what to do."

_That makes two of us._ He didn't let the thought show on his face. Instead, he took his phone out of his pocket and called the Commissioner's number. She answered, but sounded distracted until he identified himself and explained what had just happened. There was silence for a moment, followed by a deep sigh, then she told her own tale in a voice that seemed on the verge of exhaustion. Dalrymple felt himself paling at the list of casualties, and it was Miss Curtis' turn to become concerned. Finally, he ended the call. For a few minutes he sat, head buried in his hands, before turning to Miss Curtis with a face that had aged decades.

"My dear girl," he said hoarsely, "I am so very glad you arrived here safely. At least one thing has gone as it should on this terrible night"

Agent Bennet, against all expectations, waited until the paramedics brought one girl to the emergency room and the other to the morgue. Despite their best efforts, they had not been able to save one of the girls and the other was still in danger. Bennet's expression was even more grim than usual, and Zeta felt as though his programmers must have forgotten something, that there must have been more that he could have done if he had just known what it was…

"Don't second-guess yourself," Bennet said. "She was almost gone when you got to her. Unless you'd been there immediately, I don't think you could have saved her. And while you have many skills, neither clairvoyance nor omnipresence are among them. You did what you could. We both did."

"Maybe. Could we talk somewhere else? I'd rather not-"

"Of course. Is there somewhere we could meet?"

Zeta hesitated. Bennet was acting very strangely, and it could not all be attributed to the girl's death. He'd been acting strangely for quite some time. It was time that Zeta learned why.

"There is an abandoned factory on the waterfront, just west of Dini Wharf. I will be there as soon as I can. We need to talk. We have for a while."

"I know. I'll be there."

Less than half an hour later, Zeta faced his long-time pursuer and dropped his hologram.

"How did you know that I was not the real Batman?"

"Because I was briefed on him the first time I went to Gotham. My clearance is high enough that I was given, not full access, but quite a bit. I know who he is, and why he's not available at the moment. I also guessed that between wanting to pay him back for the help he's given you in the past and the robotics conference, I'd be finding you here doing exactly what you're doing. Zeta, I've recommended to my superiors that we discontinue hunting you."

The non-sequitur took Zeta a few moments to process.

"That seems out of character for you," he said. "In the past you have been almost obsessive in your belief that I was a threat not just to national security, but to public safety. Why should you suddenly change your mind now?"

"Because I overheard your conversation with Doctor Zelig."

Zeta didn't have emotions as such, but if he had, he would have been gobsmacked.

"You what?"

"I followed you. I heard almost everything. Including about the morality chip. I know that's not what he called it," Bennet said hastily, "but that's not the point. The point is, you had programming by one of our own people that caused your actions, and that programming directly precludes causing harm to people unless it is necessary to protect others, and even then, you are programmed to use minimal force. That is what I have reported to my superiors."

"What did they say?"

"They're skeptical. They want to have concrete evidence of this programming, especially since Dr. Zelig was compromised, but they know that you wouldn't be willing to trust them to have your best interests in mind. My bosses aren't complete idiots, even if certain agents they assign me are," Bennet said, smirking.

"How is Agent West?"

Bennet laughed.

"Phone surveillance. On a Quaker meetinghouse. Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Do they have any suggestions?"

Bennet took a second to connect Zeta's question to the original topic, then shook his head.

"No. Well, Agent Lee suggested finding a trustworthy third party to verify the information, but the problem with that is finding somebody we could all agree on. In the meantime, I'd like to suggest that we create a line of communication, so that if we need to contact each other for any reason, we can. In the meantime, we would still need to keep you under surveillance, but your threat level would be downgraded to potential but not definite, pending results of investigations. It's not ideal, but you wouldn't need to keep running and hiding. I think we're both getting tired of this chase, and I really don't see myself as the Inspector Javert type."

Zeta thought. There were good and bad points to Bennet's suggestion, but he was not the only person involved in this. Also, there could be aspects that he just didn't have the programming to consider. He would have to discuss this with Ro, and getting Max's input might help as well.

"Thank you, Agent Bennet, but I can't give you an answer yet. However, if you will stay in contact with Commissioner Gordon, I can get a message to her easily enough."

"All right. And tell Miss Rowan that we're willing to overlook her less than legal actions during this, since most of them were a direct result of our pursuit."

"I will."

Then Agent Bennet took another unexpected action: he extended his hand to the synthoid he'd hunted. Zeta, after a moment's hesitation, shook it. There was no trap involved; it really was just a handshake. It felt almost anti-climactic after over a year of pursuit. Zeta turned to leave, then froze in place as familiar names popped up on the 911 frequency.

…_possible heart attack brought on by__ witnessing attempted murder… suspect apprehended in victim's room… victim's status currently unknown, was not breathing, had no pulse… large group of Jokerz spotted in vicinity of Mad Stan and unidentified female__—Very Dangerous__ Situation in progress…_

"Zeta? What's happening?"

Zeta turned to him, knowing that for this, at least, he could trust the agent implicitly.

"There's been an attack on Terry McGinnis in the hospital and both he and Bruce Wayne are in critical condition. The Jokerz are currently attacking Mad Stan and a woman who I suspect is probably Mary McGinnis."

"I'll go to the hospital; you deal with the Jokerz." Agent Bennet was all business now.

"Thank you."

Zeta resumed his Batman hologram, sped to the Batmobile, and left at a velocity no human could have withstood. Bennet was slower by necessity, but still moved quickly. Both knew that the night could end in disaster and were determined to prevent what they could.

"Don't you people have lives?"

Stan grinned; his Mary was really something else. Smart, brave, and hot—how did he ever get so lucky?

"Obviously, yes, or we wouldn't be here," a tall, surprisingly well-dressed young man said. "Although I suspect you mean that in the metaphorical sense, in which case, well, it depends on the individual. Personally, I'm only out here to protect those of us who weren't actually involved in the McGinnis debacle or any of the stupidity that J-man and his minions and cronies got up to. Strictly speaking, a lot of us aren't really Jokerz at all, but our outfits get us lumped in with those halfwits. And for the record, we aren't here to take anybody down, despite what Zootie claims. You'll have to forgive him; he's an idiot."

"HEY!"

"Zootie, what's the capital of Gotham?"

"Oh, shut up."

A red-haired girl in a goth version of a commedia del arte costume glared at the arguing men.

"Here's the TLDR version," she said. "Zootie wants to fight you 'cause you broke his brother's nose yesterday; he is one of them and he just tagged along. The rest of us want to see if we can sort things out so that we can all get on with our lives. Like Pierrot said, we're not Jokerz. We're I Donato. We're performance artists. Post-modern commedia. You'd think a town famous for its theater scene would be able to tell the difference between zoot-suited crackheads and—"

"Hold it," Mary interrupted, before the conversation could go even further down the rabbit hole. "Two words: Harley. Quinn."

"Yes, but that's a gender-flipped version of the playing-card version of the Harlequin, also known as the Joker, so you see it's obviously a completely different milieu. The socio-"

"Oh, my God, my life has officially gotten too strange even for Gotham," Mary groaned. Stan was speechless. He'd been ready for a good brawl with a bunch of violent idiots, and instead he got an over-educated flashmob that needed some experience in the real world before they got themselves killed trying to live their fantasies. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering just how his life had gotten so complicated.

"Well," the redhead grinned, "you'd better get used to that if you're gonna date Mad Stan."

_Ohshit._

"What."

_Ohshit._

Stan froze as Mary's flat tone registered, and the group of whatever-they-were stared in shock.

"You didn't know?" Half a dozen voices blurted the shocked question. Mary turned to face Stan, a dangerous light in her eyes.

"Stanley Aloysius Lebowski. Is there something you would like to tell me?"

_No. Mad Stan, not Stupid Stan. Shit, shit, SHIT!_

"Honey, I—" he broke off, not sure what to say, then his head snapped around as she landed a solid right cross to his jaw. His heart sunk as he realized that Mary was Not Happy.

"Stay away from me, and stay away from my family. I've nearly lost him to you before, and I am NOT letting you hurt him again."

"What—but—_MARY!"_

Mary blazed off, nearly running over Batman. She just glared at him as well, and Stan wasn't surprised when his favorite opponent took a step back.

"They're all yours, _Batman_, I'm going to my son," Mary snarled as she turned the corner.

"But—" Batman looked at the sky. "Just _once_ could I get an easy one? And I thought there were Jokerz here. You're I Donato. I thought there was a Very Dangerous Situation in progress."

The redhead snorted.

"Oh, there was a Very Dangerous Situation, all right. Seems Mad Stan's girlfriend didn't know whom she was dating. Not even asking how she managed that. She was pretty pissed when she found out, though."

"That is unfortunate. However, if this is under control—"

"Yeah, we're good," she assured him. "Well, except I think we may have broken Mad Stan. I think I know how to fix that, though, so you deal with the people in mortal danger and we'll deal with the broken hearts."

"If you're sure."

"Hey, I'm fourth-gen theater geek and a smokin' hot ginger. I know from broken hearts. Go save people."

"Yes, ma'am." And Batman was gone too.

"Mary…" Stan whispered.

"Man, forget her, let's fight!"

"Zootie, go away or I will step-dance on your spleen," the redhead stated calmly. Zootie gulped and vanished down a convenient alley. The redhead gave Stan a sympathetic look. "Sorry, man. Look, it was my big mouth that caused this, so it's my responsibility to do something about it."

"Like what?"

"Only appropriate thing to do in this situation—we're going to get you good and drunk."

Bruce woke slowly, feeling almost more like he had the flu than another heart attack. His head throbbed, his lungs ached, and he suddenly suspected that he may have just made a colossal fool of himself. He forced his eyes open to find Barbara pacing the floor.

"Terry," he croaked. Anything else could wait. He had to know. Barbara whirled with a gasp followed quickly by a glare. She hit a button next to his bed.

"The kid'll be okay. More or less. I'll explain later, either before or after I kill you, you blithering idiot."

And before he could demand any clarification, he was surrounded by medical personnel. He spent a frustrating half-hour answering inane questions and having his own pertinent ones ignored. His doctors were nowhere near as helpful as Terry's, and they were all so busy proving how worthy they were to treat the Great Bruce Wayne that not a single one could be bothered to tell him exactly what the hell had happened. Finally, they left in a cloud of self-importance and Barbara re-entered, looking as impressed as he felt.

"Explain," Bruce demanded.

"Do you know what happens when a man over eighty years old whose health is shaky to begin with starts skimping on food and sleep while physically over-taxing himself? You collapsed from exhaustion. No heart attack; that issue seems to have been cleared up by the Lazarus Pit and wasn't it fun trying to come up with an explanation for _that_, at least one that the doctors would believe. But don't even think about trying to leave that bed for a few days, or I'll call Jason Blood and get him to come up with a spell that'll do the trick."

Bruce glared.

"Don't give me that. And it's your own fault for having learned how to pick every lock in the galaxy, otherwise I'd just borrow something from Clark. Now, having settled that, I'll tell you what you've missed over the past day. Terry's recovery has been set back by the attack. He's got two third-degree burns from the taser, although those are thankfully very small, and they are a bit worried that there might be some permanent nerve damage as well. Plus there's the cracked ribs from the CPR. I won't lie, Bruce; it's still pretty dicey. He'll definitely survive, but I don't know if he'll ever be able to return to the job. And there's more."

Barbara was looking far more tired than she should; Bruce knew that something else had gone terribly wrong.

"Barbara, what happened?"

"Chelsea Cunningham and Dana Tan were shot by a mugger at about the same time Brenda was attacking Terry. Chelsea didn't make it. Dana—she's in surgery right now to remove the bullet. They had to wait until she was stabilized because it was so close to her heart. Terry hasn't been told yet."

"No. Of course not." Bruce closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow. He felt old, tired, and useless; even knowing that it was just another random act of Gotham violence that nobody could have prevented unless they had just happened to be at the right place at the right time didn't help. Knowing that that never been enough when it was strangers he hadn't been able to help. Now that it was someone he knew, someone Terry had been close to, it was close to unbearable. "What else."

"That's the worst of it. Brenda's in a psych ward, undergoing a full evaluation. They're already muttering about paranoid delusions and complete psychotic breaks, and I think they aren't wrong, not at this point. Stephen is facing multiple charges, including conspiracy to commit fraud, blackmail, and endangerment of a minor. Bail hearing is set for Friday; this is Tuesday afternoon. Yes, you have been out since Sunday evening, don't interrupt. J-Man's sister is back in town, and Dalrymple helped her come to us. You're not going to believe this, but it really looks like she didn't know what was going on until it was too late. We're checking her story, of course, but so far it's all panned out. Dr. Dorian is fine; he's back to work already and even Dr. Cox gave him something close to a compliment for taking on an armed psycho to protect a patient. I don't want to know what's going on between Zeta and Bennet, as long as they continue to behave. By the way, Zeta showed up on Max's doorstep Friday and asked her to let his sidekick stay with her, which is why Max suddenly dropped out of sight."

"That makes sense. She wouldn't want to betray their trust, but wouldn't dare try to lie to us directly. Pity I missed the confrontation."

Barbara smiled for the first time.

"It was fun. I think the whole thing has made her realize how much of a mess this life can create, even if she's still oblivious about the danger. Although, to be fair, just growing up in Gotham will give you a skewed sense of acceptable risk."

Bruce nodded, conceding the point.

"How sure are you about the Curtis girl," he asked. "Have you talked to her yourself?"

"Yes, I have. If she is lying, she's a better actress than I've seen in a long time. She's a college student living in Chicago, and she was estranged from her brother. All of this has been verified. If we can verify the rest, she won't face any charges—Bruce, don't say it. IF she's telling the truth about what happened, then she has to live with the knowledge that her brother used her and that her gullibility nearly got a good kid killed and indirectly led to her brother's death. And while we could charge her as an accessory to kidnapping, I'm not sure we could get a conviction. She's not the villain in this, Bruce, just another poor kid who hoped she was doing the right thing while trusting the wrong person. Mary wants to talk to her, but for a number of reasons that can't happen for a while. Which reminds me- Mary found out about Stan."

Bruce winced.

"How bad was it?"

"She decked him, told him to stay away from her and her family, and walked off. In front of a crowd of performance artists. Who then proceeded to take him under their wing and get him drunk."

"Oh. Dear. God."

"VERY drunk."

"Do I want to know?"

"Drunk enough that he let them dress him in Tudor-era costume and help him stand outside the McGinnis house to serenade her with period instruments. Started with 'Greensleeves', which I would not have expected him to know, and from there it got strange."

"I do _not_ want to know."

"No. No, you don't. Although the video—"

"Of course there's a video."

"And the GCPD has officially decided that we are not going to ask how they got hold of the proper paperwork to have a camel on the streets of Gotham."

Bruce gave that announcement the double facepalm it deserved, along with a groan. Gotham had decided to outdo itself lately, taking its usual mix of tragedy, farce, and surrealism and boosting it to levels he had not seen in decades. He deeply wished he could believe that this was a hallucination, but he was far too aware of himself for that to be the case.

"Oh, and Stan's in the hospital, too," Barbara said.

"WHAT!"

"Fell off the camel, broke a rib, and punctured his lung. Started spouting Shakespeare as they carted him off. One of the multitudes of death speeches from _Hamlet_, I'm told. _MAD STAN QUOTING HAMLET. _ This is not an image I ever wanted in my mind, so I'm giving it to you."

"Remind me to thank you properly once I'm out of here." Bruce was quiet for a few minutes, then dropped his own bombshell: "I'm thinking of letting Terry go once he's back on his feet, as it were. I'll set up a fund so that he won't have to worry about college or any possible medical needs, but—"

Barbara held up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. She looked a bit shaken by his abrupt change of subject, and seemed surprisingly displeased with the idea.

"Last year at this time, I'd have been the first to congratulate you for coming to your senses. Now… Bruce, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think Terry should be the one who makes that decision. If he does pull through, make a full recovery, he may be more determined than ever to go on. You were, when Bane nearly killed you. And remember what happened the last time you fired him for his own good."

"I know. But do I really have the right to ask him to continue my fight?"

Barbara shook her head angrily.

"It has never been just your fight, Bruce. All those brains and you've never managed to get that into your thick skull. None of us got into this for the thrills, not even me. We all got into this because you were right, even if your methods sometimes weren't. Maybe in some of the alternate dimensions the whole cape-and-cowl thing causes more problems than it solves, but we don't live there. We live here, in a world where putting on a costume to either commit or prevent crimes is pretty damn close to normal. And as much as I hate to admit it, Gotham needs a hero. I'd love it if we could get along without one, but we can't. And more importantly, unless that head injury has changed Terry's personality more than it seems to have, he needs to be that hero, at least until he feels he's atoned for being young and stupid. Maybe you don't have the right to ask him to take up your cause—but you also don't have the right to ask him to abandon his."

Bruce looked at her. She had a point, but he wasn't entirely convinced. And there was one aspect to his dilemma that he would not admit to her; namely, that he had nearly lost Terry twice in the space of about a month and that he wasn't sure he could handle deliberately sending the boy into danger every night. He didn't know exactly when or how he'd gotten soft, but he suspected that it had something to do with the uncharacteristic child-like trust he saw in Terry's eyes since the boy awakened. The angry, cynical, but still instinctively heroic young man he had first met was gone. That was someone he'd felt safe to send out night after night, knowing that Terry knew the city and its dangers as well and sometimes better than Bruce did. Or the more mature and experienced Terry who had walked out of the Batcave that night, the one he'd watched grow and liked to think he'd helped to create—that Terry not only knew what was out there, but that he was only one person and not indestructible, and chose his actions accordingly. This new Terry was an innocent in multiple senses of the word; this was the kind of person he protected, not put at risk.

"Well," he said after a few minutes, "it won't matter if he doesn't make enough of a recovery. And if he never recovers those memories, it's out of the question."

"I won't argue that. Just hold off making that decision until you absolutely have to." Barbara smiled faintly. "Actually, you should probably put off making any decisions more involved than chicken or fish for dinner for a day or two. You did just wake up from a medical crisis, after all. Even your brain will be a bit fuzzy for a while."

"My brain is fine." Bruce growled a bit more vehemently than usual because she was right.

"Probably. But this is one of the few times I have a legitimate excuse for giving you good advice, and there is no way I'm passing this up." Barbara's phone chose that moment to ring, and she growled a little herself. "Gordon. –Right. Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can. Bruce, there's more to tell you, but I've covered the most important stuff. Mary will be in to visit both you and Terry later this evening; for that matter, she might be with him now. I probably won't be back tonight, because Gotham has not finished being weird at me. Thankfully, it has nothing to do with you, Terry, or anybody we've been dealing with over the last few days. Except perhaps for the camel. So we can argue more later."

She left without another word. Bruce lay in bed, brooding even more than usual. He hated this. Terry was in worse shape than ever, Dana was fighting for her life, Chelsea had lost hers, and even if Bruce's own body hadn't failed him, there was nothing he could do about any of it. Stan being in the hospital as well was almost a relief; the thought of a broken-hearted and hung-over Mad Stan was enough to make even Bruce nervous. The nature of Stan's injuries would keep him out of commission long enough that he might find something new on which to get fixated. The news about the Curtis girl gave him no joy; he had wanted her to be another villain, someone he could safely despise, not just another young woman with a tragically dysfunctional family. Zeta and Bennet—as long as they weren't causing trouble in his city, their game of hide-and-seek could continue as long as they liked. The plan to shake up Big Time was ruined now, but that wasn't very important in the grand scheme of things. Big Time never had lived up to his nickname, in Bruce's opinion. The only reason he wasted any thought on the man was because every so often he decided to kill Terry; other than that, he was just another gangleader, albeit on a somewhat larger scale than usual, as it were.

He should have realized that events had progressed too smoothly to last. Every problem that had arisen had a solution not too far out of reach, even if it hadn't been immediately obvious. Finding Terry had only been a matter of time and patience. Dealing with the Jokerz had only ever been a challenge because of their numbers, and now that the people of Gotham had finally decided to fight back that was no longer an issue. Big Time's latest contract on Terry had been settled by Mad Stan, and Mad Stan himself hadn't been a problem, only surreal. The fake Batman had barely taken a day to resolve, and had worked in everyone's favor. But Brenda McGinnis—well, he hadn't taken her seriously enough. He had taken her for just another upper-class harpy, although one who went a bit further than most. He hadn't expected her to snap so completely, or so violently, even though he'd recognized her mental instability from the start. Dalrymple had tried to warn him, and he hadn't listened. He had screwed up, plain and simple.

"Maybe I really am too old for this," he said quietly.

"That may be the only truly stupid thing I've ever heard you say," a woman said softly. Bruce looked toward the door to see a tall, elegant woman dressed in a silk dress the same green as her eyes. It had been forty years since he had seen her, but it never occurred to him that he shouldn't have recognized her immediately.

"Selina."

"Hello, Bruce," she smiled.

You have no idea how hard it was not to type "Hello, Sweetie" there. And this WILL be finished. I hope. And at some point I may write up Stan's brief foray in unintentional musical comedy as a side story.


End file.
